More Than Her Mother
by Nutter101
Summary: AU. Fem!Harry. Will the Potions Master ever realise that the Girl-Who-Lived is not her Father?
1. The Freak at Number Four

**AU. Older!Fem!Harry. I own nothing.**

**And happy birthday, Alan Rickman, xx (Tuesday 21st February 2012)**

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><p><strong>CHAPTER ONE: THE FREAK AT NUMBER FOUR<strong>

To look at the trio in the kitchen of Number 4 Privet Drive in Surrey, you'd think they were the most ordinary family in the world.

First came Daddy Member. He was a rather large man with a big bushy moustache and an even bigger belly. Then again, he liked to tuck away the pies and pasties while at work, so it wasn't really surprising. He was managing director for a firm called Grunnings which made drills; an ordinary job for an ordinary man.

Next there was Mummy Member. She was pretty much the opposite of her husband. He was big and beefy, she was small and slender. Mummy was a housewife; her ideal job, as she liked to clean and cook, though her favourite activity was spying on the neighbours, grasping for any bit of juicy gossip she could feast her ears on. She also enjoyed fattening up her husband and son (no consideration for her son's health.)

Then there was Baby Member. Today, Baby was celebrating his eleventh birthday and was hoping to get even bigger than he already was. Baby was spoiled and had the audacity to whinge and whine about the fact that he had more presents for his last birthday, but the whining soon stopped when Mummy told him when they went out for his birthday that day that they were going to buy him two new presents.

But this family wasn't as normal as one may think. They had a secret. Mummy had a niece who lived with them but they didn't like to talk about her. She was Freak Member.

"Get out of there, you spoiled little brat!" Mummy screamed and yanked Freak from the downstairs cupboard. Freak was then thrown onto the kitchen floor. "We do absolutely everything for you and this is how you repay us? By lounging around all day! You're a pathetic enough excuse for a human being as it is, now you get over that stove and cook Duddy his breakfast. And don't you dare burn anything or you'll be the one on the hob next time!"

"Give me my breakfast now!" Baby, now 'Duddy,' screamed.

"Please..." Freak begged. "It takes a while for the pan to heat up. Please don't shout at me." Freak's voice was soft and sweet and she tried to keep her tears at bay; those she had to save for her featherless pillow.

"You hurry up with that breakfast, Freak!" Daddy yelled. "You're willing to do anything to take away Dudley's limelight, aren't you? Well, it won't happen! Now cook!"

"GIVE... ME... MY... BREAKFAST!" Dudley began having a full-blown temper tantrum. Temper tantrums were expected of toddlers not pre-teens.

"You give my Duddy his breakfast," Mummy seethed. For some bizarre reason, Mummy and Daddy allowed bratty behaviour and Freak thought about what Dudley would get if he'd been her child. A time-out, probably (and not the chocolate kind.)

"But please, Aunt Petunia," Freak whispered, meekly. "Bacon takes time. You can't have it raw, it will make you ill." No word Freak ever spoke was with malice or spite, yet somehow, her speech was always misconstrued.

This statement led to a violent smack across the face and Freak fell to the floor, banging her head on the fridge door and burning her left hand as it fell from the pan she was holding which then clattered to the floor beside her, the sizzling bacon flying out and scorching her bare shin.

Sometimes, Freak wondered if life could actually get any worse.

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><p><strong>AN: Please let me know if this is good or bad. I am hoping it'll get better over time but I'm always so worried about Mary-Sues. I abhor them and I sincerely hope I don't wind up with one.**

**Constructive criticism please. It would be appreciated. Any questions on language for Foreign English Speakers, please PM me and I'll explain. For instance, mentioning Time Out. In Britain, Time Out is a chocolate bar, not time to be spent in the (what Jo Frost calls) Naughty Corner. xx**


	2. Realisation

**A/N: I own nothing; that much is evident.**

**And happy birthday Julie Walters, xx (Wednesday 22****nd**** February 2012)**

**Also, thank you very much, milkshake42, for the quick review. I never expected to receive one so fast and was even more surprised for it be a positive comment. Thanks, xx**

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><p><strong>CHAPTER TWO: REALISATION<strong>

So, maybe Freak had been wrong. It wasn't the first time. Things didn't exactly get much better as the day wore on.

Because it was Dudley's birthday, his parents were taking him and his friend Piers Polkiss on a trip to the zoo and Freak spent most of the car journey jammed between two brutal boys who took many wonderful opportunities to hit and kick her, with no reprimanding off either adult. Nor did Freak complain because, as her Aunt Petunia had told her on more than one occasion, "Nobody likes whiny brats." Freak sometimes questioned this statement and wondered why it was, then, that no one reacted to her cousin's violent tantrums.

Once at the zoo, Dudley was demanding an ice cream so Vernon Dursley (you've guessed it, Daddy) decided to take his wife, son, son's friend and niece (because obviously the son's friend is more valuable than flesh and blood) to an ice cream shop. Dudley and Piers both demanded a Knickerbocker Glory each, of which Dudley's was then returned to the kitchens, complaining it wasn't big enough. Then, when the waitress asked Freak if she would like anything, her Uncle Vernon kicked her under the table, as though ensuring she wouldn't blab, and he then answered for her.

"My niece doesn't care for sugary treats," he responded, in his most honest voice (which technically was the voice he used to con his customers: a liar's voice.) He and his wife then shared some profiteroles and an ice-cream sundae between them, the boys both had their Knickerbocker Glories and Freak was left with a spotless china plate and sparkling cutlery.

Then, with their bellies very full (except, Freak who was very hungry) they began their tour of the zoo.

Dudley and Piers were allowed to run riot up ahead and neither adult cared what trouble they caused. They could push a five-year-old into the snake pit and not get penalised for it (even if they were wishing it would be Freak.)

Freak was made to walk directly in front of them (so they could "keep an eye on her.") Oh, yes, keep an eye on the sweet child who couldn't hurt a fly so she doesn't do anything embarrassing or down-right stupid.

They meandered through Monkey Madness, bounced through Bug Delight and crept through Crocodile Cove (but Freak didn't. She was never allowed to be a child.)

Now, they found themselves in the Snake Sanctuary and Dudley and Piers would go around banging on the glass tanks and loudly carping about the 'pathetic size.' (Pathetic was a big word for Dudley.)

He then found himself attracted to the mammoth boa constrictor in a huge cage at the end of the corridor and dragged Piers along, shouting for his parents to come and look. When he arrived at his chosen destination, he was deeply disappointed at the lazy serpent who lounged around on a rock and, while she couldn't even begin to imagine how the poor snake was feeling, Freak couldn't help but sympathise with him.

"Make him move," Dudley demanded, which was replied with a loud rap on the glass from his father.

"Move!" Vernon ordered.

Dudley copied, only with more volume and even more frustration. "MOVE!" His bangs were twice as loud as his father's.

"Please, leave him alone, Dudley. You wouldn't enjoy being trapped behind a glass screen with no company," Freak whispered in such a gentle tone. Freak really was a sweet girl; it was just a shame that there weren't many people who appreciated her.

"What company does a snake need, Freak?" Dudley raged. "It's just a stupid animal! All animals are completely pointless!"

"Please, Dudley, nearly every living thing on this planet is an animal. Humans are animals. Does that mean you're a failure to the world, too?" Once more, her words were said without malice or spite and still misread.

"Don't you dare insult your cousin, you ungrateful little brat! You even think of doing that again and you'll be locked in that cupboard from now until Christmas!"

(Christmas was another joke, altogether, but that is a story for another time.)

Freak decided not to answer. Perhaps it was all for the better that she didn't argue with people; they could be so cruel to one another.

So bored were the boys, they left to examine another specimen they could victimise. Vernon and Petunia followed. Freak decided to apologise to the snake on her cousin's behalf, even if he could never understand her.

'_I'm ever so sorry_,_'_ she apologised with such sincerity to the serpent. _'I don't understand why he can have no respect for anything in this world, living or not_.'

'_Do not mourn for him, sweet girl. You are so much better than the rest of them put together,'_ she heard a voice speak.

This made Freak look around for any sign of any human who would be willing enough to converse with her; yet there was no one. Freak returned her gaze to the asp. _'Did you just say that to me?'_

'_Indeed I did, sweet Fern,'_ the snake replied in answer to her perplexed question. Freak looked to the ground at this, ashamed of what was to come. _'Why so morose, gentle Fern? A lovely little girl like you has no reason for tears, surely?'_

'_I am so sorry, Mr. Serpent,'_ she replied, hastily removing any traces of emotion from her dull green eyes. _'It is only that you are saying the kindest things to me. You even called me Fern. Is that my name? I don't recall anyone calling me Fern.'_

'_Then those relatives of yours need to pay for your loss of identity and I'm sure they will,'_ she could hear the snake seethe before the voice softened. _'And kindly call me Nexus, sweet Fern. In time you will find your place in society, far away from those fools and you will do yourself and others justice for outstanding bravery and acts of pure selflessness. Only an innocent such as you shall truly succeed in this destiny fate has mapped.'_

'_Please, Nexus. What does that mean?'_

'_You shall find out all in time, Fernie, and when you do, remember me.'_

'_Oh, Nexus. I can never forget your kindness. I will always remain as loyal and sweet to you as you have to me.'_

'_Then, that is an admirable feat, indeed. Now, how do I get out of this tank?'_

'_Are you sure that's a good idea, Nexus? I don't imagine your keeper will be any too pleased and I'd hate for you to try and escape to your dream location, only to wind up back here?'_

'_Do not fear for me. I will find a way.'_ It seemed to Freak... Fern... that the snake was somehow referring to her cousin, who was returning and Fern slowly followed the boa's line of sight to see her cousin stomp over.

'_Oh, no, Nexus. He's coming.'_ Fern was so scared of what Dudley would do to her new friend.

'_Do not fear for my welfare. You must consider your own. Before I leave you, my dear girl-child, would you welcome the healing of the burns on both your leg and hand?'_

Fern could only nod, though she didn't know if snake's spoke in nods. Come to think of it, she'd never known a snake to speak anyway. It was official. She was actually round the bend. For years she had been dreaming impossible dreams and now she was talking to snakes.

"Mummy! Dad! Come here! You won't believe what this snake is doing!" Dudley exclaimed, as he purposely kicked Fern on her burnt shin (not exactly painless) and then threw her to the floor with a hard punch to her face. With the force of his large fist colliding with her frail body, Fern smacked her head, not for the first time that day, on the steel guard protecting the cage. This time, though, she was knocked out cold, a large gash already forming on her forehead. She already had an ominous one shaped like a lightning bolt on her chest and was glad it was permanently hidden to all, but another would be too much and there would be no way to get away from prying eyes by saying "I fell down the stairs."

Fern was home now... well, Number Four Privet Drive; the home of her relatives. Her Uncle had taken his belt off to her and whipped her back until she was bleeding all over. Her head was hurting so much from the impact of the steel guard that she hardly noticed it. Fern didn't know why he beat her either, but did he need an excuse? Wasn't it bad enough she had burdened him, her maternal aunt and cousin, for nearly a decade with her mere presence? Was it too much to ask for a rational conversation once in a while or was Fern really as worthless as they made out... as worthless as she felt?

Fern was lying on the hard, yet lumpy half-mattress in the spider-infested cupboard under the stairs, too weak to comprehend the day's events and, consequently, too fatigued to worry about arachnids probing into her every-orifice, a nightmare she had possessed during every hour of darkness since she arrived there on the 1st of November 1981, but she would never remember that.

The last thing, Fern did before she fell into a stupor was whisper through her tears, 'Nexus, please help me.'

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><p><strong>AN: Good or awful. I'd really like to know. Should I scrap this story full-stop and never write anything again or am I a halfway-decent writer?**

**Once again, constructive criticism please.**


	3. The Serpent and the Letter

**A/N: Same story – I own nowt!**

**I am also flattered by receiving such positive comments about my writing and I would also like to thank arisflame for a "*hugs author*" in your review. It was so unexpected and I'm glad you're pleased with my take on the story. (I've read many a Fem!Harry fic and have sometimes been disappointed that ****she**** remains just as suspicious as Harry does. Sometimes, I think Harry can be very narrow-minded and a bit cruel sometimes. But this is me trying to be different.) Ta, very much! xx**

**And to 917brat, you never know what you may receive in any story you ever read.**

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><p><strong>CHAPTER THREE: THE SERPENT AND THE LETTER<strong>

The following day, she had been woken up at the crack of dawn and dragged out of the cupboard by her Uncle. Any spider web-designing in mid-air had to cling on for dear life as he slammed the door shut, having yanked her from her sanctuary.

Things were certainly going to get worse. They usually did.

Fern didn't know what had happened this time or, indeed, how it had happened, but she did know it was her fault.

"We are going out for the day, Freak," spittle escaping through his words. "You are to start off in the garden. Pulling the weeds, pruning the bushes and keep any filthy cats out of there! You let them do their business in the bushes, I'll smack you so hard you'll bounce!" He was right up into her face and, so scared was Fern, she couldn't bear to look at him. "Do you hear me?" He received no reply. "DO YOU HEAR ME?" he repeated, his tone more aggravated and impatient.

"Y-Y-Yes, Sir," she whispered through her tears.

"Oh, don't give me those crocodile tears," he sneered. He then returned to his chosen plan for the girl. "Once you have finished out here, you are to go in the house and clean from top to bottom. You can start off in the bathroom if you like... with your toothbrush!"

Now, that was just plain mean. The truth was, she'd never actually had a toothbrush of her own anyway. Her mother's sister and her family didn't like 'wasting' money on the 'pathetic little Freak.' After all, what had Fern done for them that deserved any act of kindness?

No, any toothbrush Fern had ever owned, had been a hand-me-down from Dudley and that was usually when he had made himself sick by shovelling too much junk food into his fat gob and thrown up over it late at night. The thought of it always made Fern squirm and she seriously worried that one day she'd die of disease. Dudley would go for days without brushing if he could get away with it.

In fact, Fern had never had anything of her own. She hadn't even been blessed with clothes from the charity shops; just made to wear whatever didn't fit Dudley anymore (and those clothes were huge.)

She had once asked her Aunt if she wouldn't mind altering them a touch to suit her size a bit better but she was just left with one earful of screeched lyrics and a clip around the other one. That was when Fern decided she needed to do something so went raiding through the loft to see if she could find any safety pins to try make herself look less like a ragamuffin.

She had found an old sewing machine up there and one day, when the Dursleys were out, had begun to try and alter the clothes herself. On several occasions, she was unsuccessful, though she had looked better than before. She had to do it so often now, it was like second nature.

She did wish, though, that she was old enough to earn pocket money so she could buy material and make her own clothes.

Anyway, in returning to the story at hand, the Dursleys left, Dudley bragging (no more than usual) at the thought of getting loads of late birthday presents for his ordeal at the zoo. But then, Fern hadn't known what happened after her blackout so was both confused and, just the same as always, tormented by her bully of a cousin.

She began as her Uncle demanded and began in the garden. Already her hands were calloused and bleeding from pulling out weeds and clipping the rose bush. Crikey, those thorns were sharp.

It was quite sad for Fern that she had to shoo away five cats. You see, she loved animals, and always felt as though they liked her too. Not once had she attacked by a creature... Although, there was that one time when her Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge, had come round to Number Four for Dudley's eighth birthday party, bringing with her favourite dog. Ripper.

The vicious canine had chased her out of the house and into the garden, cornering her by the fence. She honestly hadn't intended to step on his tail. It was Dudley who tripped her up but she knew then, and even more now, that defending herself would only warrant a belt.

As she turned over soil in the flower bed, Fern heard a rustling sound. It was coming from the rose bush. She certainly hadn't heard it when she had been over there.

Dropping her trowel, she attempted to get most of the soil off her hands by rubbing them on her oversized (but altered) jumper and approached the shrub.

She was ever so surprised to see the snake emerge.

"_Nexus!"_ she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up at the sight of her first real friend. (She thought she had one when she was six and was asked to look after the new girl at school. Her name was Sarah. She didn't turn out to be the person Fern thought she was and immediately began bullying her. It really had been too good to be true.)

"_Oh, yes, Fernie, I am back. That bush isn't half-prickly,"_ she heard Nexus speak to her and she noticed he was writhing with pricks sticking out of his body.

Quicker than you could say, "she's talking to a snake," she was on him like a shot, attempting to remove as many of the parasites as quickly as she could, with no thought to her own fragile skin.

"_Not once has a human been so kind to me as you have,"_ Nexus spoke, his voice perplexed, as though wondering why she didn't run away screaming at the sight of him, like so many had before her.

"_All creatures are living, thinking things. I find it so horrible that people treat animals so cruelly. They test cosmetic products on animals, like they're nothing more than an object; a piece of paper or a plank of wood. It really isn't fair."_

"_You truly are a remarkable child, gentle Fern. You have such solid patterns of loyalty to creatures like me. You defend my kind with such devotion and passion and with no thought to how you are treated for you act." _The snake made his way slowly up her arm, so slowly that to Fern it felt somewhat like a cuddle.

That said, what did a cuddle feel like? She didn't recall ever being held with such love. Surely, she must have had at least one off her mother when she'd been alive?

Nexus continued to creep up her arm and meander his way around her clavicle. If he'd been any other boa constrictor, Fern would probably doubt his sweet words to remain true and she'd most likely pay the price for her foolishness as he'd, quite easily, strangle her. But Fern trusted Nexus. Not once had she detected a manner of spite in his voice and he seemed to genuinely care about. She braced herself, in case.

"_Don't be so tense. I shall remain loyal to you until my dying day. I am no murderer."_ And she relaxed as he slithered down her left arm and onto her lap.

"_Dear Fern, you will find your place in another world... You shall be respected, hailed as saviour. Some may not consider your actions to be in __their__ best interests, but __you__ know what is right and wrong."_ He paused. _"I must go now, sweet girl. You must return to your chores but you never know what may come about with the failure of a family out of the house."_ And he left through the gap in the fence.

She continued for most of the day in a complete daze, mulling over Nexus' words. They were mystifying, certainly, but she thought them interesting all the same.

As she sat on the side of the bath, cleaning mould off the grouting on the bathroom tiles, she heard the flap of the letterbox and wondered for a moment if this is what Nexus had meant.

Perhaps it wasn't a good idea to abandon the task at hand, in case the Dursleys' returned home, but, as the old saying goes, 'curiosity killed the cat.'

Tentatively, she made her way down the stairs and with one hand on the banister for support (lest the door be thrown open), she leant down to pick up the envelope.

It didn't look like your standard everyday bill and it couldn't have been anyway, judging by the addressee's name.

MISS F. POTTER,  
>The Cupboard Under the Stairs,<br>4 Privet Drive,  
>Little Whinging,<br>SURREY

"There's a letter for me?" she whispered, and turned the envelope over. On the back was a red wax seal. Personally, Fern felt it was all very refined, as though it had been sent by a true gentleman (someone rarely seen nowadays) from the eighteenth century. They used to seal their letters with wax.

"So sophisticated," Fern smiled. For a ten-year-old, she was quite good with words. There was only one book the Dursleys had ever allowed her to read: the dictionary. So, it did have a use after all.

She broke the seal with a gentle nail-flick under the flap and carefully pulled out the letter.

"Dear Miss Potter," she read. "We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

This was a surprise. Was this why everything was always her fault, why strange things seemed to happen in her presence? Would this explain why the recent occurrence at the zoo, whatever happened, meant she got the blame?

She read the remainder of the letter and was seemingly chuffed to bits at her would-be destiny, but then her face fell. What if this was all a cruel trick her Aunt and Uncle had played and she really was the gullible little fool they wanted to believe she was?

Entering the kitchen, she searched the drawers for a pen and wrote a reply on the overleaf of the first part of the letter. She thought it best to keep the second sheet, for it had all information on required supplies. If it wasn't a trick, then she'd feel a bit stupid for not checking what she was writing on before she wrote it.

"Dear Professor McGonagall," she wrote in her best handwriting. "I accept this invitation to your school. Could you possibly give me some information on how to get to Hogwarts, please? It would be greatly appreciated. Thank you very much. Fre-" she was going to sign. _Oops_, she caught herself just in time, and crossed out what she would have written and exchanged it with Fern Potter.

But this caused her to ponder something else. The letter said, 'We await your owl.' What on Earth did that mean? Then, all too soon, it became clear as she heard a repetitive rapping. At first, she thought it was a woodpecker trying to hammer a hole in the garden fence. It didn't matter how often it got patched up, it was always the same woodpecker in the same spot on the same fence.

Then she considered the fact that it didn't sound like wood. It sounded more metallic, like... the window. At the window sat an impatient owl, which surprised her, not for the first time that day.

Fern had thought this reply would have to be sent at night. She had always thought owls were nocturnal but then, if these were wizards and witches she would be dealing with, she would have to prepare herself for her the puzzles and wonder of the new world.

She lifted the pane and tied the letter to the owl who held out his leg in anticipation with the piece of thin ratty string that was keeping her hair off her face.

Fern watched as the owl flew out of the garden and out of sight. _"This is it, Nexus,"_ she whispered. She could have sworn she heard him reply, _"Good luck, Fern."_

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><p><strong>AN: Right. Bit longer this chapter. Should I have split it into two chapters? (Though the reason for doing it all in one was probably because I couldn't think of a better title.)**

**Also, who do my readers want to come and collect her to take her to Diagon Alley?**

**Con-crit, please. Thanks, xx**


	4. An Unexpected Visitor

**Thank you to Okami-G and RedEmerald6 for two more positive comments. (I must be doing something right.) I'm also thankful that you like the name I chose. (I'm not a lover of popular/modern names. Simple and sweet is what I like.) xx**

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><p><strong>CHAPTER FOUR: AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR<strong>

Fern had dreamt that night of what it might be like at this school, if it was real. She wouldn't really know until she got there but it was nice to wonder.

The next day, Dudley decided to continue his favourite hobby, Follow the Freak. Normally, he'd have done this with his friends Piers, Gordon, Dennis and Malcolm. But they weren't here because it was the summer holidays and they usually went for a week's holiday somewhere around this time.

The Dursleys once went with Piers' family to Pontins, minus Fern. They had burdened Mrs. Figg with her. Was it the fact that they thought Mrs. Figg hated her? They couldn't have been more wrong.

In actual fact, Mrs. Figg rather enjoyed Fern's company and always made a Victoria sponge cake with icing for her whenever she came round.

Fern didn't mind going round either. The house sometimes had a funny smell, but that was expected from the number of cats Mrs. Figg had.

Now she thought about it, Mrs. Figg was the first person Fern remembered showing her true kindness. She had once given the little girl with the tangled hair a silver hairbrush. It meant a lot to Fern, for she had never received anything off anyone before and she had kept it sparkling and scratch-free... until her Aunt found out three weeks later.

The Dursleys didn't like Fern having anything nice... they didn't like Fern in general. Petunia had seen her brushing her hair once and demanded to know where she got it. Of course, Fern's honest explanation was deemed a lie, just like anything else she ever told her relatives.

Petunia had dragged her niece into the back garden by her hair and threw the hairbrush out over the fields. She had then pushed Fern back inside the house and threatened her to stay where she was. It was steel comb time.

After that day, Fern didn't like anyone touching her head... she even struggled herself. There were too many bad memories.

By mid-July, Fern had received no reply off anyone since she wrote the note. Maybe this was all a horrible trick, even if the letter looked kosher.

Still, she was back in the kitchen cooking for the Dursleys once again. Vernon sat reading the paper, with little interest in anything else, Petunia was sipping her tea and Dudley was grinning maliciously at Fern. At his side sat his Smeltings Stick.

Vernon and Petunia had taken him to get his new school uniform a few weeks earlier and part of the uniform was a stick. Vernon had informed his son that these were used for hitting each other with when the teacher wasn't looking.

Fern suspected that somehow that wasn't quite true but that Vernon had been a bit of a bully during his time at the school. So, that was where Dudley got it from.

As Fern placed the silver toast rack on the table, Dudley took his opportunity to ensure she was the first person to be hit with the stick, on the back of her knees.

"'Atta boy, Dudley," Vernon praised. "Got to get your practice in."

Fern didn't flinch, but looked hopeful upon hearing the doorbell ring.

"Get the door," Petunia demanded, and Fern didn't hesitate to obey. If she'd learnt one thing over the years, it was always listen or pay the price.

Once out of earshot and sight of the Dursleys in the hallway, Fern paused. "Please take me away from here," she whispered, before taking the gilt door handle in her bony hand and opening the door.

On the other side stood a stern-looking woman wearing some rather odd clothes. She was dressed all in green with what looked to Fern like a medieval day gown, a matching pointed hat and she wore rectangular glasses. She certainly didn't look like someone to cross but, then, appearances could be deceptive.

Fern didn't judge a person simply based on their appearance and she rather supposed this lady might even turn out to be the kindest woman she would ever want to meet.

It would seem Fern's words got stuck in her throat and she couldn't even whisper a shy 'hello.'

"Good day, Miss Potter," the woman greeted with a Scottish brogue. "May I come in?"

Fern could only nod and step aside. Secretly, she was hoping this woman was her salvation.

"Well, girl, who is it?" Vernon bellowed and the little girl winced. He had just given it all away.

"Er..." Fern was speechless. How could she say it? What could she say? She couldn't very well tell him that she went behind their backs to accept an invite to a magic school, could she?

"I'll deal with this, Miss Potter," the woman spoke, in a tender tone and she moved forward toward the source of the male voice in the kitchen.

Fern was worried and she knew now she had two choices: one, make a run for it, or two, shut the door and try to explain to her relatives. Foolish as she was, she had to try and explain. It didn't matter that they wouldn't believe her; she had to let them know.

"It's my fault, Uncle Vernon," she admitted, without vacillation. "I got the letter and I wrote back."

"What letter?" A suspicious Dursley Senior rounded on his niece.

"M-M-My Hogwarts letter... I... got it... a month ago when you, Aunt Petunia and Dudley went out. I'm so sorry, Uncle Vernon." The poor girl was on the verge of tears, and the visitor seriously dreaded what went on behind these closed doors.

"You went behind our backs to accept this school for freaks?" Vernon raged.

"Oh, that's what you're calling it?" the older woman said, ironically. "I'll have you know, Hogwarts is the best school in the Wizarding World and Fern be damned if you deny her entry."

Well, she had been right. This lady wasn't someone to cross.

"Then it is true?" her timorous voice spoke up. "There really is a Wizarding school?" As she said this, in realisation and anticipation, her eyes lit up and a sweet, yet innocent, smile adorned her face.

"Yes, there is, Miss Potter. And I am witch, as are you," the guest replied.

Fern's face fell in shame. "But I thought m-magic wasn't real?"

At this enquiry, the woman's face turned to one of sheer outrage and caused Fern to recede with fright.

"You told her magic doesn't exist?" The visitor glared at the sister of her former student, her favourite student. "Did Lily mean nothing to you? I don't suppose you cared to tell her how her parents died, either?"

"They did, Miss," Fern said, gently. "My parents died in a car accident. That's how I got the scar on my chest."

"That's a lie, Fern." The woman's voice was agitated and severely stern. It could certainly give a certain colleague of hers a run for his money. She looked down at Fern. "Your parents were murdered by an evil wizard. They were not drunken fools or whatever else these muggles have called them, they were respectable aurors who got in the way of the wizard who set out to kill you. You were worth far more to them than their own lives, in spite of what this lot may think," she spat the last bit in direction of the Dursleys.

She hadn't intended to make the girl cry, but having been lied to all those years, was bound to emit some sort of reaction. The woman pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to the girl who wiped her eyes.

The woman then rounded on the killer whale, giraffe and whale calf. "Regardless of what any of you has to say, this girl is going to execute her destiny. You cannot stop her from attending Hogwarts and I sincerely hope that in years to come you'll remember what she did for you and the abuse she has been forced to endure due to you."

"You don't know the first thing about us!" Petunia screeched.

"I know more about you than I should. Lily used to talk about you a lot, but not once did she have anything awful to say of you; much like Fern, here. It was my former student-now-colleague who told all the tales of you. Admittedly, he despised Fern's father but he seriously didn't want her to come here. Told Dumbledore he'd rather die than have her come here, but he wouldn't listen."

"So a man who hates my father didn't want me to come here? Said he'd rather die than have me come here?" Fern questioned.

"Indeed. Severus Snape," the woman stated.

"Then he is a lovely man." The woman was truly taken aback by the girl's unmitigated declaration. Fern had never met the man before and had already decided she liked him. That was saying something. There weren't many people who could say they liked Severus Snape.

"In any case," the woman continued, "I shall take your niece under my wing. She shall remain in my care until she comes of age when she is free to do as she pleases. I hope Dumbledore does not intend her to return here. It is quite clear there is no respect whatsoever in this house – no respect for Fern, all she does for you, what she endures. She doesn't have respectable clothing. Merlin only knows what size that sweater is!" she raged.

She took the girl's hand in her own and moved to exit through the front door.

"Please, Miss, what's your name?" Fern asked.

"I am Professor McGonagall," was the woman's basic answer.

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><p><strong>AN: Disappointed with this chapter. I'm not good at keeping with writing in-Character, though that could be because I am not J., but, believe me, I tried.**

**I'm also disappointed for the fact that I have writer's block but don't want to keep readers waiting a whole year for an update. (When it returns, I might re-write this chapter; see if I can get it to make more sense.)**


	5. The Journey to a New Life

**A/N: I'm not overly-pleased with this chapter, either, but I'm really hoping this story will get better.**

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><p><strong>CHAPTER FIVE: THE JOURNEY TO A NEW LIFE<strong>

The four weeks since she had been taken from Number Four Privet Drive had gone very quick indeed.

Now, she lived with Professor McGonagall (whom she was allowed to call Minerva when outside of school hours) and found her to be a very kind and considerate woman.

The home in which she was now inhabiting was a very simple little white cottage with a thatched roof. The garden was rather bare, save for a few honeysuckle bushes an oleander tree. So simple it was that Fern thought it was beautiful.

It was ever-so quiet as well. There was virtually no one around for miles, only the farmer who came around to tend to his flock, for the cottage was surrounded by fields and it was so peaceful. That certainly made a change from the Dursleys.

The inside of the cottage was just as plain as outside, but no less attractive.

Upon entry, there was the living area. There were two armchairs and a sofa, a low-set glass coffee table, a bookcase along one wall and a fireplace on another. The seating encased the inglenook, which Fern decided was a very good idea. 'It could get very cold in the winter,' she had considered.

Moving further along, there was a modest alcove in which stood a kitchen, only holding the bare necessities (plus a dining table and two chairs.) Practical, considering the woman had lived alone.

Then there was the bathroom, which was tiled along the walls with a beige carpet below. In it sat a bath, a toilet, a sink and mirror.

As one were to move a little further down the corridor, they would come to Fern's new room, a room she would have never dreamt of having.

It was spacious and decorated in a lovely cornflower blue on both the walls and floor. Fern's bed was bigger than she anticipated too and was rather large for only a single.

A window rested to the right of the bed, complete with a set of cream-coloured curtains and at the foot of the bed sat a small vanity table. The poor girl, bless her, hadn't really possessed anything nice; clearly her new guardian was set on changing it.

When Fern had found out she was allowed a bedroom, she had burst into tears. Nevermore would she have to sleep in a spider-infested cupboard and she was allowed some freedom now to do as she pleased, within reason.

After Fern's room, the final port of call was her guardian's, but Fern knew better than to go moseying into other people's bedrooms and going through their property. Fern wouldn't like it if someone did that to her, so she would never do it anybody. Professor McGonagall's room cannot be described for this reason, for Fern has never entered.

This morning, the teacher was going to take the girl to Diagon Alley to obtain her school supplies listed in the letter she received with acceptance to Hogwarts. Her main plan, however, was to get the girl some decent clothes that hadn't been hand-me-downs off a baby walrus.

What Fern didn't know, however, was why Minerva seemed so keen to get her innovative attire.

The teacher decided to Apparate with Fern to Diagon Alley. Really, she didn't feel the girl would be ready to travel via Floo Powder and she'd probably wind up somewhere dangerous and, or, unfortunate.

They apparated to a back alley, littered with ratty old boxes full of rubbish and knocked-over dustbins. "Don't worry about that, Fern, someone will clean it up," the woman sighed, exasperated. It seemed, no matter where she was, the girl had a tendency for worrying about the slightest bit of dirt on any surface in any location. 'What did they do to you?' she thought, bitterly, before turning to face the wall and tapping five bricks in five different places with her wand.

The bricks began to move back and to, as if readying to move house, before pulling back into an archway, leaving the cobbled streets of Diagon Alley to the sight of the two females.

It was rather busy, Fern noted, but, then, Hogwarts was only a fortnight away; people were clearly doing a bit of last-minute shopping.

Professor McGonagall held out her hand to the young girl who took it, gladly. In spite of occurrences in her past, the woman had probably expected the girl to shy away from any contact, but maybe she was so content just to have someone who cared.

"Please, Minerva," her timid tone sounded, "where are we going to first?"

"Well, we must go to Gringotts. Can't buy supplies without money," was the plain reply.

As they meandered through the street, Fern's eyes met the tall marble structure at the end and took a few moments to admire the sophistication of its appearance before she and her Professor entered.

Once inside, Fern found it, like she did with Professor McGonagall's cottage, just as elegant inside as out.

Small lanterns adorned the edges of the mahogany desks and lit the room up in a delicate fashion. Fern's green eyes, much brighter since leaving her misery in Surrey and coming to Stranraer, lifted to the ceiling where many elegant crystal chandeliers were suspended and proceeded to enlarge the sheen on the floor.

Fern could hear her mentor's shoes squeaking on the floor, due to its cleanliness.

They walked, both in a different manner, to the pulpit where the Head Goblin resided; Professor McGonagall with confidence, Fern with caution.

Fern guessed these strange-looking creatures were probably not something to be worried about, even if they looked stern. Professor McGonagall was quite stern and she was alright, wasn't she?

"Please, Minerva, what are these...?" Fern didn't know what to call them. They didn't look like people; they didn't look like animals. They didn't really resemble anything in between, either. She settled for, "... people?"

"These are goblins, Fern. Can't trust any human with other people's money," she said.

"Oh," Fern said, rather taken aback. It did seem a bit harsh saying that, but there must a few completely honest people in the world who would never take advantage of anyone, surely?

Once the pair reached the dais, the senior grabbed the Head Goblin's attention. "Good morning," she greeted. Fern supposed this was to attempt to stay on the good side of a goblin; treat them with respect and kindness. "Miss Fernanda Mary Alice Potter wishes to make a withdrawal."

Fernanda Mary Alice Potter? Was that her full name? She'd not heard it spoken before, but it was ever-so nice. Up until a few weeks ago, it had only been 'Freak' or 'Potter.' Pleasantries didn't usually occur where Fern was concerned.

"And does Miss Fernanda Mary Alice Potter," the goblin spoke slowly, "have her key?" All the time, he was examining the anxious child, who was looking in every direction she could without looking at the goblin.

"I do," the teacher answered and handed the goblin the key.

"Then, if you'll follow me," he beckoned and they pursued.

The ride down was a bit too long for Fern. She had been invited by her muggle primary school to go on a trip to Alton Towers once and she had been forced to go on a rollercoaster by Dudley and his gang. They had virtually thrown her on it and she hadn't liked it one bit. She wasn't overly-keen on this journey, either.

Luckily, they landed at their destination before Fern was sick.

The goblin stepped out of the cart and motioned for the females to do the same, which Fern did without hesitation.

He opened the door to Vault 687, Fern's vault, and slowly it opened to reveal a small fortune.

"This is the vault your parents set up to get you started, Fern. This was a last-minute decision. You-Know-Who was on the rise at the time and would come after you. The Ministry, corrupted as it is, would do anything to deny you your fortune, so your parents set up this vault without anyone but the goblins and I knowing," Minerva explained.

This was a last minute decision? "Does that mean there are more?" Fern asked, inquisitively.

"Oh, yes. Old family vaults. The Potter family is probably the most prestigious family in the Wizarding World. The greatest feature is the fact that this fortune is self-made." She paused. "There are other families, however, who didn't and proceeded to make their fortunes from others."

The teacher was making the girl stop to think. She wondered what the woman could possibly mean, but realised that, in the fullness of time, it would all become clear.

Fern decided not to press it further, as the trio clambered back into the cart and returned to the entrance hall, Fern having received a stack of coins from each pile of gold, silver and bronze.

They stepped out of Gringotts and Fern pulled out her list. "Where do we go first?" the girl asked.

"Well, I would say practical equipment first; gets it over and done with."

So they did. Fern bought the exact cauldron cited on her list, _Standard Size 2, Pewter_. It would have been nice to have one of a different substance, but she wasn't one to complain.

She bought a set of brass scales and a set of crystal phials before they moved on to a different shop to buy a telescope for Astronomy. Fern loved the mystery of the skies and was really looking forward to this class.

They then traversed to Ollivander's Wand Shop. Fern had been rather looking forward to getting a wand. In all the fairy stories she had read in her primary school library, she felt a wand would complete her as her new title of 'Apprentice Witch,' as she dubbed herself since watching 'Bedknobs and Broomsticks' in class on the last day of term, and her last day as a Year 6 Junior. Had she not received her letter to Hogwarts, she would be going to Stonewall High School.

The bell tingled as they entered and Fern tentatively stepped toward the counter. The shop appeared deserted and she looked back to her teacher in question.

No sooner had she enquired without words that she heard a ladder sliding along a shelf, which made her jump out of her skin and staggered back in surprise.

She met the sight of a man with wild white hair and silver eyes, a smile playing on his lips. "I wondered when I'd be seeing you, Lady Potter," he greeted, leaving Fern speechless at the title she had received.

She turned once more to look at her teacher. The look she received was clearly one of 'You had to find out from someone else.'

The man stepped down off the ladder and immediately began taking a box off a shelf, with intent to enable Fern to demonstrate. Gently, he removed the wand from the box and handed it to Fern.

Fern held out her left hand to take it, shakily, from the man. Was something supposed to happen?

"Give it a wave," he instructed.

Fern obeyed, with consequences, as a great many wand boxes flew from the shelves and she placed the wand, hastily, on the counter.

"Apparently not," Mr. Ollivander stated.

"Happened to me on my first try, Fern. Don't worry," the teacher reassured, as the wand maker got another box, one of a small few still sitting on the shelf.

"Perhaps this," he tried and she took the wand again. Waving it, in the hope of getting something to levitate, she placed that one, too, on the counter. That had just smashed a vase. Whatever these wands were made of, they clearly didn't like her.

As Ollivander examined another, he whispered, "I wonder," and offered it to Fern. Unfortunately, this one was just as bad, if not worse, than the other two, as it seemed to have a mind of its own.

The front window smashed, with Fern hardly touching it, before it spun around and destroyed almost everything in its path before it wrestled Fern to the ground and attempted to strangle her with a rope that appeared out of nowhere.

The two elders attempted to grapple with the wand, which refused to leave her hand, and it was only resting on the tip of her finger.

Ollivander muttered something under his breath and it determinedly returned to its case and placed itself back on the shelf. He moved back around the counter, in attempt to find another, as Professor McGonagall helped her up and checked her over for any injuries. Fern only seemed to be breathless, which was a good sign.

"I'm okay," she whispered, unsteadily, trying to calm her breathing.

"That wand had a brother," Ollivander explained. "Clearly, its brother did many terrible things and that is not the wand intended for a soul so pure."

That was another mystery, but Fern didn't want to go into detail on the matter. She didn't want to hear of awful things that had happened today or any other day, though she supposed she'd have to at one time or another.

Ollivander examined the shelves. It seemed to Fern that he knew exactly where every box was and what every box contained. For a good five minutes, he couldn't seem to find what he had been looking for, but then focused his attention on the floor and began looking through the boxes which had been removed by the erratic first wand.

Then he found it. Picking the box up, he moved to the counter, opened it and held it out for Fern to take. "I've a feeling about this one," he said. "Cypress. Nine inches. Core of a unicorn's tail hair."

Fern had learned her lesson now, and ever so gently, allowed the wand to drop in her hand, but was ever so surprised when sparks of blue and silver burst forth from the tip.

"That's the one," Ollivander said, plain and simple. He then decided to go into detail with this particular wand. "That wand has rested in here for seven-hundred years. The last owner of that wand was very like you. This girl was very innocent and, like the wood of this particular wand suggests, she cared more for her worst enemy than herself. We've reason to believe, from the stories told over the centuries, that it was her innocence and self-sacrifice that got her killed."

"What do you mean?" Professor McGonagall asked, ever-so worried at the man's tale.

"A wand made of Cypress wood symbolises virtue and bravery. It is said the owner of a Cypress wand, particularly this one, shall die a death of pure heroism and shall be praised greatly for their achievements. The unicorn who gave this hair died in such a way. It is believed the mare's young foal was under threat by a group of muggle hunters in the late twelfth century and she stepped forward to protect her young, allowing herself to be slain by the leader." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "Sadly, the young foal was departed by the huntsmen for its ivory."

"That's very sad," Fern spoke up.

"I wouldn't worry about it, dear girl. It happened centuries ago, as did the death of the girl, but I can tell you will live a long and happy life."

Unnerved by the legend, Minerva was quick to get Fern to pay for the wand and get out of there as fast as possible. The wand cost thirty-five galleons, an outrageous price in McGonagall's mind for a wand that could cause so much trouble.

Trying to shake the thought from her mind, she led Fern into a large bookshop called Flourish and Blotts.

Fern immediately went to find all the books on the list. As soon as she returned to her new home, she really desired finding out as much as she could about this world so new.

Even once she had found all the books on her list, she continued to browse to see if there was anything to give a bit more background history on the Wizarding World.

She found a few books on history within the old Wizarding families, thinking it to be a good start as to how to succeed in the Wizarding world. After she skimmed through _Nature's Nobility: a Wizarding Genealogy_ a few times, she decided to place it in her basket.

Scanning many other shelves, she found a book called _Hierarchies and How to Succeed Amongst Them_. She opened this book to a list of contents and was shocked to find her surname listed under Dukes and Duchesses. Is this what Ollivander meant when he called her "Lady Potter?"

She put this one, too, in her basket before continuing to see if there was anything else that caught her eye.

Once she was done, her basket was practically bulging with books, as they slid over one another and she nearly lost two as she bent down to look on a lower shelf for something and her basket tilted. She was, however, quick to recover.

She proceeded to the counter to discover that she had more than twice as many books than had been required.

"Erm... Professor McGonagall?" Perhaps it was best to let the woman know how much she had bought. "I think I've gotten a bit over-zealous."

The woman came to examine the basket.

"Well, whatever pleases you, dear." Fern hadn't expected the woman to be so accepting of her choices and she moved to pay the man behind the till for her books, parchment, few bottles of ink and some quills.

Once Flourish and Blotts was over, Professor McGonagall considered it a good idea to visit the Magical Menagerie. She had completely forgotten about Fern's birthday a fortnight ago, but if the girl minded, she didn't say anything.

Saying that, did the girl know when her birthday was? Did she even know how old she was?

'I'll get her a pet,' she decided and allowed the girl to look at all the different creatures while she wandered off to find a friend the girl would appreciate.

Fern looked in all the enclosures. There were creatures in there that would make pretty surprising pets. Giant snails, purple toads and a few black rats using their tails as skipping ropes, which Fern thought was rather sweet.

There were also all-manner of other creatures she had to consult her new schoolbook for, entitled _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_.

As she studied, she could now recognise fire-crabs, which, to Fern, appeared more like a turtle than a crab, though maybe they were called 'crabs' for bad-tempered behaviour.

There were ravens, puffskeins and nifflers.

As she moved from cage to cage, she heard a familiar voice.

'_I see we meet again, sweet Fern_.' That voice was very familiar and she turned around to meet the face of her first animal friend.

'_Nexus_,' she smiled, before realising that he was stuck in a cage like all of the others. '_What happened to you?_'

'_Your Aunt freaked out when she saw me in the garden and called the authorities. I was lucky Wizarding authorities arrived, so I could see you again._'

'_It's so sweet of you to think of me_,' she smiled.

'_I'll make you a deal, Fernie. You get me out of this place, I'll be the best pet snake you'll ever own_.' His deal left no deliberation to what Fern would do.

'_Then I'll take you with me_.' But then a thought hit her. '_Oh, but I'm not allowed to take a snake with me to Hogwarts_.'

'_No need to fret. I'm sure we can come to some arrangement. You may leave me in your new home and maybe we can meet one another of a weekend, if your new guardian allows you to Floo_.'

Fern was lucky Professor McGonagall had told her of Floo. She had hardly believed it when her mentor informed her she could travel by fireplace.

'_I'll take you, Nexus_,' and she left to find someone to ask.

Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall was browsing in the cat section. An affectionate pet was just what Fern needed, and she decided, of the three pets allowed at Hogwarts, the cat was the most affectionate.

Her eyes lay on a small black and white male kitten. Immediately, she went to consult the nearest salesperson and paid for the kitten. She even bought the holder to carry him in, along with a few cat treats and toys.

She doubted the girl had ever had any presents for birthdays and Christmas, so maybe it was time to show her some love.

Once both pets were paid for, they two met up, both surprised that the other was holding a pet. Fern had her boa constrictor resting lazily around her clavicle and twisting around one wrist and a leg, but ever so gently.

"What are you doing with that snake, Miss Potter?" Professor McGonagall did not seem happy.

"He was my first real friend, Professor. I met him at the zoo in June and his words are so kind."

Words? The girl had been talking to snakes. 'Oh, no, she's a Parselmouth,' the woman thought.

"I promise you, Professor, he won't bring any harm to anyone I love, and I love you."

Minerva needed only to look into those emerald eyes, so like her mother's, to realise there was nothing but integrity and fidelity in her words. Fern didn't even blink as she spoke, the sign for Minerva of complete honesty, so she accepted the serpent just as she had accepted Fern.

As they vacated the shop, the woman then remembered, as she heard a soft mewing beside her. "Oh, sorry. Think of this as a late birthday present," and she opened the cage slightly. The eager kitten inside jumped out onto the cobbles and scrambled to get up Fern's trouser leg.

The girl smiled and leant down to pick up the feline and brought him up to her chest. He quickly nuzzled his nose in her neck, and she giggled at his whiskers tickling against her bare skin. "Is it male or female?" she asked, smiling with gratitude at the older woman.

"Male."

"What's his name?"

"That's entirely up to you," she offered.

Fern gently pulled the kitten away from her and examined his appearance. He was mostly black with a few white patches and green eyes. As soon as she glanced at his white paws, she knew.

"Socks," she smiled.

Professor McGonagall seemed rather taken aback by the girl's suggestion. "Socks?" she responded, in question.

"He looks like he's got white socks on. He's so sweet, and I think it's a sweet name."

Very well. He was her cat, she was free to name him what she pleased. Still, it could be a far worse name, the teacher thought.

The final port of call for this trip was to go to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions to get her school uniform.

Before entering the shop, Socks was placed in his carry-case and Nexus was likewise, even though his was much larger.

The first thing McGonagall did when her desired salesperson, Madam Malkin herself, arrived to attend to Fern's own request was to hand her an envelope.

Fern didn't know much about herself or her history and even less about the mysterious sachet. She would be very surprised if she knew what it contained.

The proprietor examined the parchment. Her eyes shot open with surprise and wonder at the contents. This letter had been written by none other than the girl's father, James Potter, explaining the fashions required for a girl of Fern's social standing.

The Potters had always been a very traditional pureblood family and one of, if not the richest, families in the Wizarding World.

Of every Potter she'd seen, the men were always smartly dressed in sophisticated suits, looking as though they had stepped right out of a Victorian romance novel. Their shoes were always completely spotless, as were their three-pieces. A number of them had facial hair, yet not a single follicle was out of place and they usually wore a hat to accentuate their wealth.

She had seen their wives in large, beautiful gowns, figures so enviable (petite waists formed by corsets) and sometimes loud and rather ostentatious bonnets. Regardless, they were never something to be sniffed at, for they were usually very nice ladies.

Sadly, however, so many of them were killed in the late war, others tortured for information as to the whereabouts of Lady Fernanda Mary Alice Potter, yet not one would ever betray their own kind.

These who refused to collaborate with You-Know-Who paid the price with a fate worse than death: St. Mungo's, a Wizarding hospital. They received the same fate as poor Frank and Alice (whom Fern was partly named after) Longbottom who, too, were tortured for information.

And now here she stood ready to provide the one heir to the Potter fortune. Hastily, she summoned an assistant to tend to the girl's uniform construction as she went off to assemble the young girl's glad rags.

She looked at the girl now and noticed the state of her clothes. They had been taken in only slightly, she noticed, to make them look a little better but fleece was such a heavy fabric, and it was hard with just a needle and thread. Her trousers looked very baggy indeed and the belt went round her waist about three times.

Putting this out of her mind, she began creating feminine clothes for this young Duchess. Secretly, she wondered if the girl knew of her status.

Meanwhile, in the main entrance, Fern complied with Madam Malkin's assistant's instructions and hopped up onto the stool to be measured.

As the tape measure, seemingly to Fern with a mind of its own, calculated her arm length and width from shoulder to elbow, elbow to wrist and likewise on the other, before it trekked to her legs and completed a similar process.

It seemed to record virtually every possible angle of her body and she allowed herself a small laugh at how inanimate objects in the muggle world could be so characteristic in this one.

The wait for her uniform wasn't very long at all, about fifteen minutes, though Minerva decided that the required trend for her young ward would take a little longer than expected. It was certainly a lot to make, but Fern didn't know how much it was to be, or indeed how much it would cost, but didn't say anything, just began a conversation with her warden.

About an hour later, Madam Malkin emerged.

"Terribly sorry it took so long. If I'd known, I'd have allowed you some free time to yourselves," she apologised. "Miss Potter, would you come and try something on for me please?"

Fern didn't mind in the slightest, as the woman led her into a fitting room.

A vest, some bloomers, stays, a pair of stockings, new shoes and a fair few petticoats later, Fern stood looking at herself in the mirror. She was wearing a lovely brown satin dress with matching ribbon in her hair and a tear slipped down her cheek.

"What's wrong, dear girl?" the woman asked, with concern.

"I just... never dreamed I could be so..." Dare she say it? "...pretty. I love it," she smiled and she allowed herself a twirl. She felt so much like a princess.

"I'm glad," and she ushered Fern out of the changing room and handed over one bag of clothes. Fern wondered if there was some sort of charm on it to make it smaller and lighter.

"How much is it, Madam Malkin?" Fern asked, as she quickly got out her purse, with intent to pay anything.

"It costs nothing, dear girl."

So there was money in the envelope? Had this all been pre-organised by someone; by her parents, maybe?

"Oh, well here's ten galleons for your wonderful work. I can tell you've placed a lot of care and attention into making my new clothes and I am all the more grateful for it," and Fern gently placed the ten gold coins in the woman's palm with a smile. "Thank you," and she turned to pick up the cages containing both of her pets. "Perhaps I'll see you again soon. Next year maybe, if I grow out of this uniform. Goodbye," she waved and skipped out of the shop, Professor McGonagall on her tail.

Madam Malkin then glanced down at her palm and reward she received for nothing. Everything had been paid for in the letter and yet this girl paid her a ten-galleon tip. This girl was either very mad or very generous. She opted for the latter, considering her gentle words.

"Sweet girl," she whispered.

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><p><strong>AN: Well, that's that. Took a while to write this. I wasn't sure if people wanted it splitting but I thought a nice long chapter might receive better reviews.**

**I do apologise it seems a bit all over the place and the background stories don't make much sense, though I'm hoping they will do in the fullness of time.**

**This chapter should hopefully keep you all occupied considering the length (almost 5,000 words.) If it's too long, feel free to tell me.**

**Then again, I don't want to disappoint people with really short chapters that don't really mean anything.**

**Also, do people want this to be one really big long story or should I split it into separate like J.K. Rowling herself did? (This will determine any title change.)**

**Also apologise for chapter title. Bit naff, innit?**

**And please review. I won't write start writing another chapter until I receive at least one review.**

**Thanks, xx**


	6. Swotting, Shipment and Sorting

**A/N: Thank you to my most recent reviewer. I am easily pleased by this one review, as it means I can write another chapter.**

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><p><strong>CHAPTER SIX: SWOTTING, SHIPMENT AND SORTING<strong>

Professor McGonagall and Fern had wasted no time since they returned from Diagon Alley.

Minerva had transfigured a small object of little to no importance in her own home, into a large glass tank for Fern's pet snake, which, surprisingly, fit in Fern's bedroom.

Nexus was allowed out during the day, though at night, he slept in his tank.

In spite of the woman's discontent when first she discovered Fern's gift (or curse), the girl's words had been nothing but entirely truthful. The snake did nothing to aggravate her or make her nervous. In fact, he seemed to enjoy her company, which she found a bit strange. He hadn't bitten her or tried to strangle her. Was it that he quite liked her or was he just a lazy snake?

Fern had spent the remainder of the summer holidays reading through her school books. The books she bought for background reading, she concluded, could easily wait. She could study them during any free time she may have at Hogwarts.

Fern had taken a particular interest in her Potions book. It was a bit like muggle chemistry, she decided, though it probably required a bit more time and care, which she didn't mind. Occasionally it was nice to just relax into something, where energy was probably mandatory for other activities.

She had studied a number of plants suggested by her soon-to-be teacher from _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_, which Minerva informed her would be used rather often in the upcoming year.

She had read up on Transfiguration and Charms, glad that she would get to learn some practical magic this year.

Minerva had also bought her a box of chocolate frogs as another birthday present, to which Fern protested greatly, telling the woman she had already given her enough.

Through the Witches and Wizards cards, Fern had learnt a fair bit about the history of the Wizarding World, mainly the famous people, some noted for their eccentricities, fears, inventions or prominent feats, such as Artemisia Lufkin, famed for being the first female Minister for Magic. Fern compared her to Margaret Thatcher, even if there were two hundred years between their dates.

In spite of all she had revised, her favourite book, undoubtedly, was the _Atlas of Stars and Constellations_ she had bought as extra reading from Flourish and Blotts. Really, she didn't want to wait for Astronomy. She had already tried out her new telescope and got reprimanded by Minerva after using it three nights on the trot (even though the way in which she castigated the girl had been rather amusing, solely for the fact that she was laughing while telling her young ward off.)

The woman's suspicions had first been aroused, however, when the girl virtually fell asleep in her Pixie Puffs one morning.

Anyway, today was the day Fern would be going to Hogwarts and she couldn't wait. All of her new feminine clothes were neatly stored away in the biggest compartment of her trunk, which had additional enlargement charms on it, courtesy of her mentor, in spite of the fact that it didn't look any bigger. Her school uniform, too, was in this section.

Her compulsory schoolbooks were in a separate section in alphabetical order, the others on the opposite side; save for one which she took to read on the train.

Her large equipment went into another segment of her trunk with, courtesy of Minerva again, more extension charms.

She wore just a few simple muggle clothes today (so the aforementioned muggles wouldn't suspect anything odd); a blue knee-length skirt, a plain carnation pink T-shirt and a fleece jumper in the same colour. On her feet, she wore a pair of white frilly socks and shiny Mary-Jane shoes. (It was ever so nice to be girly and wear clothes that actually fit.)

The final touch to her was her long, thick brown knee-length curls (the one thing she had only ever been really proud of) tied in two separate side-ponytails, adorned with pale blue ribbons.

All that was left now was to put Socks in his box and they could be on their way.

Sadly, Nexus wasn't allowed to come, of course, but Minerva had taught Fern how to Floo so she could go and see him as often as she liked.

If it was any other child bar Fern, the woman probably wouldn't trust them enough not to take advantage.

She had been teaching at Hogwarts since 1956 and not once, in all of those years, did she ever have the pleasure to know such unwavering loyalty and honesty in any child. Fern hadn't uttered a single untruthful word to her. Perhaps her relatives had taught her something, even if they denied her every pleasure of being a child.

"Are you ready, Fern?" the woman called.

"I'll be out in a minute," the girl's gentle voice sounded, as she clipped the front of Socks' carry case shut and bade goodbye her to snake.

"_I'll come and see you as often as I can, Nexus_," she reassured.

"_I have no doubt you will. Go and have a good year_," was the hissed reply.

"_I love you_," Fern replied and, grabbing Socks and her trunk, she vacated her bedroom, making sure to leave the door open so Nexus could get out if he wanted to. "_TTFN_."

The human pair (and feline addition) then left the cottage and, with the girl taking the woman's arm, they apparated, their trunks appearing a few seconds later.

They were in a back alley that didn't do much at all for Fern's nerves. She had certainly never been quicker to grasp her teacher's hand, and she was led out, with her trunk and her cat, into the busy London Street and they headed for the subway to take them to King's Cross Station.

The station itself was just as busy. Fern guessed this was because, being the first of September, everything was starting up again, including children going to muggle boarding schools (just as she was likewise to a Wizarding one) and she also noticed there were a lot of men rather smartly dressed, most likely with business meetings to catch, as she recognised their agitation. (If only the trains were ever on time.)

"Fern, I must apparate to Hogwarts, but I'm sure you'll be fine," and the woman handed Fern her ticket. "All you have to do is walk at the wall between the signs for platforms nine and ten and you'll be ready to board the Hogwarts Express."

Fern nodded, and, with a comforting arm on her shoulder, Minerva left, no doubt to return to the back alley to apparate just outside of Hogwarts. It wasn't exactly legal to apparate to the school directly.

For about five minutes, she wandered slowly down the platform, her possessions now, thankfully, on a metal trolley, feeling rather lost.

She needn't have worried for too long, though, for she saw a woman with six children, the septet of them all with the same ginger hair. Not only did the woman look as though she knew exactly where she going, she also seemed, Fern realised from her words that this family was magical. She must know exactly what to do.

Well, surely it couldn't hurt to enquire, could it?

Tentatively, she approached the woman. "Excuse me?" she asked, feeling rather uneasy, and the seven turned around to face the girl. "Are your children going to Hogwarts?"

"Of course, dear. Well, except Ron and Ginny. They aren't old enough yet."

"Well... Erm..." She ever-so nervous. "Do you know... where the entrance to... Platform... Nine-and-Three-Quarters is, please?"

"Certainly dear, it's just down here," and the woman led Fern a little way down the platform. "Charlie, please show her how to do it," she requested, and the eldest boy demonstrated without hesitation, but not before he flashed a warm smile in Fern's direction. Maybe Fern could be allowed to make some friends here?

He disappeared right into the wall. It made Fern jump, but also less nervous. Her greatest fear for the moment had been that she'd simply smack right into it and break her neck.

Fern did just what the boy, Charlie, did before her. She was grateful he was waiting on the other side.

"Would you like to share my compartment?" he asked. And Fern thought if the rest of the Wizarding World was as accommodating as the three people (including Professor McGonagall) she now knew, she never need worry about not fitting in.

"I wouldn't want to intrude," Fern whispered.

"There's no intrusion. It's just me and my brothers. I'm Charlie, by the way. Charlie Weasley," he introduced and held out his hand.

Hesitantly, Fern placed her hand in his and rather roughly (though he probably didn't realise he was so heavy-handed), practically shook hers off her wrist.

"My name's Fernanda," she replied, demurely.

"Pleased to meet you, Fernanda," and he helped her onto the train, before leading her to a compartment and helping her to put her trunk away.

Fern had released Socks from his carry case and he was now happily nestling on her lap, ready to fall asleep as she opened her book.

"Book must be tedious," Charlie joked, at the cat's antics. This earned a nervous smile from Fern.

Charlie's brothers then joined. Identical twin boys entered first, rather energetically and plonked themselves on either side of Fern.

"HI!" the greeted, making Fern practically hit the ceiling of the compartment with surprise.

"I'm Fred," one announced.

"I'm George," the second one introduced.

"Well, hello Fred, hello George," she replied timidly. Unfortunately, she hadn't been quick enough to see who was who when introducing themselves. "Well... Which one is Fred and which one is George?"

"Me," the replied, simultaneously, adding only more confusion to Fern's already bewildered mind at the sight of twins.

It wasn't that she was wary of twins; it was simply of the worry of how she could learn to tell them apart, for twins had a tendency for switching places every so often.

The last to enter could only be another brother of Charlie's, though he appeared younger than Charlie and older than Fred and George. His manner of movement gave the impression that he didn't like people who thought they were better than he was.

From the look he gave the twins, Fern could also tell that he thought they were foolish and would never make anything of themselves. Maybe, he didn't like having fun, judging by the expression on his face when Fred and George playfully teased him about having a girlfriend.

The train ride went rather quick, Fern thought, so quick that she didn't even have time to read her book, for the Weasley brothers kept her talking in attempt, most likely, to get her to overcome her shyness, even if they weren't very successful.

"So, what House do you want to be in?" Charlie asked, kindly.

That was a question. She certainly didn't want to say the wrong thing in case they judged her on her choice.

"I don't mind," she replied. "I'm sure every House has its good points and bad points."

"Slytherin has no good points," the middle-brother sneered.

Fern knew three of the four brothers, but the second didn't want to associate with her, for even when Charlie introduced her to the trio of fellow redheads, he refused to say his name.

"I'm sure they have," Fern smiled, as if it would make the situation any better.

"Then clearly, you possess more foolishness than sense," he spat.

"Percy!" Charlie spat in retaliation. "What has Fern done to you to warrant that response?"

"Well, she's clearly just a silly little girl with no brain or she'd read up on these things! There is absolutely no decent person in this world that came from Slytherin." This Percy could certainly be narrow-minded and cruel.

"There must be. What I'd like is to set out to find them. I don't think they can all be what you say they are." Fern's words were never spiteful, not even when standing up for her beliefs, though, once she said it, she regretted it.

"Then you have a lot to learn. If you ever find a halfway decent Slytherin, I'll give you every Knut to my name."

"Be careful, Perce," one of the twins teased.

"She might hold you to that," the other added.

The twins couldn't be more wrong, judging by what she said now.

"I don't want anything off you, Percy," Fern said, her voice just as quiet and gentle as could be. "I don't want anything off any of you. I only want you to be happy with yourselves and for you all to love each other, even if you fight like cats and dogs."

The scowl she received off Percy at that moment, told her exactly what to do and she scrambled to get her things as quickly as she could and fled the compartment.

"Good going, Genius!" Fred glared at his brother.

"Go take a running jump at yourself in the Black Lake, you selfish git!" George added, with a matching glower.

Charlie, meanwhile, had gone to out to Fern.

"Don't mind him," he attempted to reassure her. "He just has strong opinions and doesn't like to hear those of others."

"I gathered," Fern said, simply. "It doesn't matter. Maybe I should just have kept my mouth shut. I started this argument; I think it only fair I should be the one to finish it by leaving. Goodbye, Charlie," and she left to find another compartment.

Charlie watched her walk down the aisle, so morose at the fact of her believing she had just ruined any chance she had of making friends. He then stepped back into the compartment.

"Where's she gone?" Percy scoffed. "Gone off in a strop because she hasn't got her own way?"

"If you must know, she's gone to be on her own because it's clear she isn't wanted in this compartment," Charlie replied.

"Though only by you," the twins argued in unison.

Meanwhile, halfway through the train, as she tried to find a compartment that wasn't bursting with students, she managed to find one with a girl and a boy in.

Pushing open the door slightly, she took a moment to ask. "Excuse me. Do you mind if I sit here, please? Some of the other compartments are rather full."

"Course you can," said the pretty Chinese girl with black hair.

Fern pushed her trunk up against the window, as it was a bit heavy to put it on the rack above, and sat next to the girl.

"I'm Cho Chang, by the way," the girl smiled.

"Fernanda Potter, pleased to meet you," the brunette replied.

"Really? The Girl-Who-Lived?" Cho asked, surprised.

"Yes," was the sheepish reply. Fern wasn't like other children her age and, had they been famed for something like that, would probably gloat and brag of such things.

Then again, Fern hadn't known up until a month ago, so it was all pretty new to her.

The boy then decided to speak up. "I-I'm Neville Longbottom," he stammered.

Never in her life did Fern think she would ever meet anyone as nervous as she was. It was quite refreshing.

"Pleased to meet you, Neville," she smiled. He smiled in return.

The trio just sat there chatting for a while, nothing of real importance, just random topics eleven-year-olds one their way to Hogwarts talk about, classes, sport, dinner. Fern was all the more grateful to her new friends for not mentioning Houses. It got her into trouble last time.

A woman soon came through with a trolley fully-laden with sweets.

Cho searched through her small hold-all for any money, and a dejected Neville announced he didn't have any. Fern didn't mind and bought a pile for the three of them to share.

Cho and Neville split them into two small piles each for themselves, leaving Fern with the big mound.

"Why don't you take some more?" Fern asked. "I bought them for all of us."

"But you paid for them," Neville responded. "You should have more."

"I'm sorry, Neville, but I'm not having that," she laughed, and stacked up their piles with more of her goodies. Fern was soon left with a small pile for herself.

"Why have you given us more?" Cho seemed just as confused as Neville.

"You're both so nice to me. I think kindness deserves such a reward."

The remainder of the train ride was journeyed in silence, so the three parted ways to get changed into their new school robes.

Around quarter-to-five in the evening, the train came to a halt at Hogsmeade Station (as Fern noticed upon stepping out and seeing the ornate sign) and, as most students went on ahead, Fern and her fellow first years were greeted by a giant of a man, who wasn't nearly as scary as she would have thought.

He was probably about seven to eight foot tall with long bushy black hair and an even bushier beard. He held a lantern up as a sign to the first years of where to go, along with a call of "Firs' years over 'ere!"

The first years followed in two orderly lines of boy-girl. Fern was somewhere in the middle with Neville, Cho not far behind with a brown-haired boy.

They were led to eleven boats all lined up. "No more 'n four to a boat, please," the giant instructed, and they got in the boats, four in each. The giant, himself, got into the last one on his own, though it would be worrying if he tried to force himself in one with two first year students and wound up squishing them.

Once seated, the giant spoke to the boats. It was one thing talking to snakes, but boats? "Move on."

As they boats obeyed, the magnificent castle soon came to the sight of the excited first years. There were many turrets and towers, lights emitting from nearly everywhere, a beautiful stone pathway, Fern noticed, leading up to the castle from the boathouse which wasn't too far in front.

There were bridges and arches leading from the main castle to a separate section and, as she studied the sky above the glorious bastion, she couldn't help but wonder if someone had set up the clouds in such a way to add more beauty to the already-stunning fortress.

As they approached the boathouse and left for the castle, Fern whispered something to herself. "Welcome home."

Maybe Neville heard her, as he looked at her smiling at the splendour, but he nodded in agreement.

Once inside, they were greeted by Professor McGonagall. "Welcome to Hogwarts," she began. "Now, in a few moments, you will pass through these doors and take your seats for dinner, but before you do, you must be sorted into your Houses. They are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup. If you'll excuse me just a minute," she said, before leaving through the doors.

The children took this moment to try and smarten themselves up a bit. Who wanted to look like a scruff-bag on their first day at school?

A few moments later, Professor McGonagall returned. "We're ready for you now. Follow me."

The doors opened, seemingly to Fern's eyes like magic, though there could have been someone pulling them from the opposite side, like there usually was in old muggle films with an heir and servants.

The Great Hall was also quite a vision to behold. The floor was of the same stonework as the exterior of the castle and four wooden tables lain length-ways down the Hall from the double doors to the teachers' table.

When Fern looked up she could candles floating above the House tables and could also see the sky outside when she looked at the ceiling. She had read about that in _Hogwarts, a History_ and thought it far more beautiful to the eye than the imagination.

As they drew closer to the bow of the Hall, Fern's expression of awe turned into a smile as she witnessed the different appearances of the teachers.

There was a female teacher on the far left side with rather wild frizzy hair and large glasses (a bit like Deirdre Barlow in the muggle soap opera Coronation Street) Fern noted. She looked rather eccentric, certainly, but no unpleasant.

Next to her, sat a small teacher with a bald head, white beard and a fair few wrinkles on his face. He looked rather old; maybe he was part-Goblin?

Then there was whom Fern suspected could only be the Headmaster, judging by the fact that he was seated in the most ornate chair. He too, had a white beard, though it was much longer and could easily be tucked into his belt. His hair was just as long as his beard. He had blue eyes which held an air of mischief as they twinkled in the candlelight and he wore rather bright purple robes in soft velvet, complete with a traditional wizard's hat.

Next to him sat a bubbly-looking witch. She was on the dumpy side with mad grey hair and she, too, had a hat. Perhaps she wore the hat to try and tame it. Overall, she looked a nice teacher and, if appearances were anything to go by, she may, like the first witch, be a bit unusual, but to Fern it was quite refreshing.

Then came the one teacher who really caught her eye. Like the giant, though with a good two-foot taken off his height and even more weight removed, this teacher had black hair. It wasn't shaggy like the giant's and he didn't have a beard. (Not really anything like the giant at all.) His hair was shoulder-length and looked quite fine, certainly finer than Fern's hair.

He was very pale, too, Fern noticed, as though he either didn't like the sun or was anaemic.

Saying that, Fern was pale, but she had to be out in the sun a lot during the summer at the Dursleys doing the gardening and such like. She was pale, but she had a lot of freckles to make up for it.

She had often wondered, in all honesty, why she had them at all. She had brown hair. Did brunettes usually have freckles? Or maybe her mother had been a redhead, as freckles were usually associated with fair skin.

However, there were two main features about this teacher that intrigued Fern. The first was his eyes; cold black eyes. She saw something in them, she thought. What it was, she didn't know, but they looked pained.

The second was the look he gave her when first he saw her in the line. It was a gaze of familiarity, almost as if he had seen her somewhere before. Then again, there was something else in that gaze, one of spite or hatred. Did she remind him of someone he greatly disliked?

Shaking her head, she turned her attention to Neville who had been quietly fretting about not being sorted anywhere.

"I'm sure you will, Neville," she smiled so lovingly at her new friend. Then she went off on another tangent and remembered a song from the musical _Annie_. Suddenly she felt like singing, though thought the better of it, so sang to herself. '_I think I'm gonna like it here_.'

Just before the step leading to the teacher's table, Professor McGonagall placed a stool down, on which sat a raggedy wizard's hat. Undoubtedly, it had seen a lot of heads.

"When I call your name, you will come forth, I will place the Sorting Hat on your head and you will be sorted into your Houses." She unfurled a roll of parchment and began reading through names.

One by one, students were sorted into each of the separate Houses. Cho Chang went straight to the cheers from the Ravenclaw table and both she and Fern smiled at one another in passing.

More names were called as the line slowly dissipated into an unorganised blob of students.

"Fawcett-"

"Ingram-"

"Kennerley-"

Before Neville was called and, so nervous was he, that he fell before he got there and fell once again after he got off the stool. He had been sorted into Gryffindor after probably five minutes. Perhaps it was the shock after finally being sorted that caused him to once again lose his balance.

"Heidi Macavoy" was then called and sorted into Hufflepuff, as was "Maxine O'Flaherty" a few sorting later.

Then came the dreaded segment.

"Fernanda Potter," her mentor called and a chorus of whispers sounded throughout the Great Hall.

With great caution, Fern slowly made her way to her destiny. Having heard Percy Weasley's words earlier had made her worry that he was right. If she went to Slytherin, she would probably wind up like all the rest. Frankly, the thought scared her. She did want more confidence, but she didn't want an ego.

Every step Fern took was like a pounding in her ears and she tentatively took her seat upon the stool, as Professor McGonagall lowered the Sorting Hat and Fern awaited her fate.

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><p><strong>AN: Well, there's a cliff-hanger for you. I already know where I want Fern to go, but I want to keep people guessing unless they review, because then I can write new chapters.**

**As I asked at the end of my last chapter (and received no response) would people like this story to be one really big long one or do you want it splitting like J. did?**

**Also, even though it won't be happening for a while, who do people want Fern to be getting with boyfriend-wise? It won't be easy for her, and maybe these relationships won't work out, but I already know how I want it to end.**

**However, I value the opinion of my readers and would like you to have input in this story.**

**There may also be unusual allies for Fern, so if anyone has ideas for possibilities (where they weren't allies in the Canon Story) then please let me know.**

**And surely this is allowed because it is AU? That's why Fern is nothing like Harry, because I get so sick and tired of every Fem!Harry story following everything exactly, and why she is always just the same as Harry where she doesn't consider all of her options and goes around biting people's heads off and hexing Malfoy.**

**Anyway, that's enough of my rant.**

**Please review.**

**XX**


	7. A Week of Firsts

**A/N: Thanks to my reviewers. There isn't much else I can say.**

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><p><strong>CHAPTER SEVEN: A WEEK OF FIRSTS<strong>

No sooner had the Sorting Hat brushed Fern's hair that the brim opened wide and bellowed "HUFFLEPUFF!"

For a few moments, the Great Hall was completely silent. Then she worried of hearing nothing but crickets and seeing tumbleweed.

Not ten seconds later, a raucous cheer of applause erupted from the table adorned in yellow and black and Fern took this as her cue to join them. She moved to sit next to blond-haired Heidi and many members of her new House moved to greet her. She hadn't considered such a welcomed reception.

The Sorting continued, but there wasn't nearly as much enthusiasm for the first years that were left, which Fern thought was unfair.

She may have been famous and a member of one of the most prestigious Wizarding families, but to her it didn't matter. Everybody deserved their moment of fame and for her remaining classmates she desperately wanted theirs to be their Sorting.

The Sorting was soon over and the Headmaster rose from his seat. "Let the Feast begin," he said plainly, and the House tables were immediately filled with all manner of victuals.

Fern slowly chose her desired dinner which she delicately placed on her plate. She wasn't a greedy girl.

She helped herself to some roast chicken, roast potatoes, some mixed vegetables and her favourite, Yorkshire pudding, before drizzling some gravy over the top.

This Feast was also a good way for Fern to make some friends more around her own age, like she had with Cho and Neville.

She became very fast friends with Heidi and Maxine, who had been sorted not too long before her. Heidi was a very pretty girl with a head of golden curls and eyes which shone like sapphires.

Maxine, however, like Fern, was rather plain, with shoulder-length brown hair and hazel eyes.

But, Fern couldn't care less what people looked like so long as they were nice and she found her two new friends to perfectly fit that description.

Heidi, she learned, was a bit scatty as, right in the middle of a conversation they were having, she forgot what she was going to say right before she said it. But it was easy to put up with because she was 'such a sweet girl' in Fern's opinion.

Maxine was a rather loud tomboy who liked Quidditch, the Wizarding sport. She had told Fern and Heidi she wanted to try out for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, even if she would have to wait a year or two.

All told, Maxine was just as nice as Heidi, even if she nearly bit a fellow first year's head off when he called her Maxine. She much preferred just Max.

By the time dinner had finished, Fern had made about ten new friends, including second year Cedric Diggory and even seventh year Nymphadora Tonks, who, like Maxine, had a barney with someone who used her full first name.

She told him it was just 'Tonks,' before Fern quietly interrupted with, "I think Nymphadora is a beautiful name." At this, Fern had been allowed to call her new friend Dora.

The Hogwarts school song had been sung, each student allowed to sing to their favourite tune. Fern had sung to 'When He Danced With Me' from 'The Slipper and the Rose.'

Dora had commented on her sweet voice once the song was over, which led to poor Fern flushing with embarrassment at the compliment. Her reply was, "Well, I was in the choir at my muggle primary school?"

The only reason she had been allowed to attend the choir was because her relatives wanted her out of the house as often as possible. It also saved her from Dudley's harassment.

"Maybe you should join the school choir here," was the suggestion she received in response to her own reply.

Fern wasn't really sure what to say to this proposal, so had to settle on "Maybe." It was probably something to think about another time.

Fern and her fellow first years were led by a fifth year Prefect, having parted ways with Dora, to the Hufflepuff Common Room. Dora had gone to her own dormitory and the Prefect would instruct them to their residence.

In spite of feeling fatigue, Fern couldn't go to bed straight away. She had to unpack all of her school books, parchment, ink and quills, as well as socks and knickers and find her yellow hair ribbons for the morning.

Before going to bed, she let Socks out of his case and went to brush her teeth and change into her nightie.

Ever since going to Madam Malkin's, she felt like a proper girl, which was nice. Her nightie, like her other hand-made clothes, was very feminine in a soft peach, complete with lace and ribbons and modestly brushed the floor.

Taking the blue ribbons out of her hair on her way back into her dormitory, she placed them in an outside pocket of her rucksack, with the rest of her hair ornaments and pulled out a fabric headband matching her nightdress, before going back into her trunk and pulling out her hairbrush.

She used the headband just to keep her hair out of her face and sat in bed mindlessly brushing her hair and thinking of the days ahead.

The following day was the best first day of school for any student anywhere, for the Second Day of September 1990 was a Sunday.

Fern spent most of her day doing some last-minute studying for the upcoming classes and even had an unfortunate run-in with the caretaker while she wandered down the corridors to try and get her bearings.

Mr. Filch didn't exactly like children and Fern was no exception. His cat, Mrs. Norris, rarely left his side and when she did, it was usually to go and find some students to report who were breaking school rules.

Fern didn't break any rules by curiosity alone, but her interest in the castle was enough for Filch to catch her and report her to her Head of House.

She was quite lucky in the respect that Professor Sprout didn't buy his story for five minutes and dismissed him from her office before warning Fern to avoid him and offering her a ginger nut.

On Monday, the adventure really started.

The first class of term was after breakfast. It was Charms, which Fern rather liked the sound of. The class was shared with Ravenclaw and Fern was happy to see Cho again so the two sat together, much to the annoyance of Cho's Housemate who, for some reason, seemed to really dislike Fern.

The first couple of lessons had been all theory, as practical magic took more care and attention. Regardless, Fern didn't mind writing. Notes were always helpful for revising.

From the morning break to after lunch, the first year Hufflepuffs were left hanging about like spare parts. Their second and last class of the day wasn't until two o'clock when they would have a double History of Magic lesson with the Slytherins.

The teacher, Professor Binns, droned on about nothing for most of the lesson and virtually every student, save for Fern, had all either drifted off into daydreams or fallen asleep completely. Fern, meanwhile, had been making as many relevant notes as she could from the dull Professor.

On Tuesday morning, there was double Defence Against the Dark Arts, with the seemingly-timid Professor Quirrell, who wore grey robes and a purple turban. Not much was learned so far, so notes were just made.

On Tuesday afternoon, Transfiguration class was held on the first floor and Professor McGonagall had the students turning a match into a needle.

She seemed quite pleased with Fern who, after about ten attempts, succeeded. The eye of the needle could have been a bit bigger, but it was closer than the attempts of others.

Hufflepuff was awarded ten House points for effort.

By Wednesday, most of the first years were very bored and annoyed that they had yet to perform any practical magic in any subject bar Transfiguration.

Even Herbology to them had been tedious, for most of that was on the theoretical care of the different plants and not so much the distribution of the seeds.

If Fern minded as much as her classmates, she didn't say anything.

On Wednesday night, Fern was in her element, as she studied the stars and made notes on them for Astronomy. Professor Sinistra seemed pretty impressed with her.

Thursday was filled with another class in both Charms and Herbology and by Friday there was only one class the first years had yet to take. Potions.

Had the teacher been different, the students would probably have been glad to take the class; but Professor Snape was not like the other teachers.

The Potions classroom easily lacked the cheery atmosphere that had been present in the other classes, even History of Magic with, in the view of many students, the 'most boring teacher ever.'

The dungeon in which Potions class was held was also very cold; so cold that Fern had to return to her dormitory to get her scarf and mittens. (She was certainly glad she left early enough for the class that she had the time to get warm.)

Professor Snape was quick to admonish her for 'foolish behaviour,' as he called it, and took twenty points from Hufflepuff after demanding she remove her woolly accessories.

For the rest of the class, Fern was forced to sit and shiver. The closest she got to warm now was the movement of the quill as she wrote.

Unfortunately, she could only keep her left hand warm on that account, so had to sit on her right to prevent her from getting dead fingers.

Professor Snape's speech had the class in a harsh silence. No one dared even to clear their throat in case of point loss.

He seemed very distracted, too, at Fern's behaviour. How dare she not pay attention to him?

"Then again," he pronounced in the midst of his dialogue, "maybe some of you have come to Hogwarts in possession of abilities so formidable that you feel confident enough to... not... pay... attention!"

He had come right over to Fern and slammed both of his hands on her desk. So shocked she was, she immediately stopped writing notes and slowly her terrified eyes lifted up to look at him.

"Miss Potter," he sneered. "Our new celebrity. Seeing as how you don't feel the need to pay attention in this class and clearly know all there is to know on the subject, I don't suppose you should have trouble answering these few questions."

There was easily an air of threat in his words, as if challenging her like she was some cocky fifteen-year-old boy.

"Tell me, Potter, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

She knew this one. She read through both her Potions book and _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_.

"Erm..." She was extremely panicky when addressing this particular teacher. Not one other she had so far had been so domineering. "The... Draught of... Living Death, Sir."

Noticeably, the girl wasn't as stupid as he thought.

"Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

"In the stomach of a goat, Sir." Fern had been slightly more confident on that one.

"And finally, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane." 'This should test the brat,' he thought.

This required a bit more thinking on Fern's part, but she did come out with the right answer. "There is no difference, Sir. They are just two different names for the same plant."

Fern was ever so hopeful with her answers. Maybe she could try and win back a couple of points he had previously taken from her.

"Pity," he mocked. "Clearly, fame isn't everything, is it Potter? A further twenty points for not explaining fully the answers to my questions."

Maxine's expression turned to one of pure hatred and scorn. "That's not fair!" she yelled in her teacher's face. "You only told her to tell you what so-and-so made, where she'd find a bezoar and what the difference was between those two plants. You never told her to tell you the extra information!"

"Please, Maxine, leave it," Fern whispered, wishing to avoid further confrontation.

Perhaps Maxine was so annoyed that she didn't mind Fern calling her by her full name. Either that or Fern had been nothing but completely nice to her that she didn't care what her friend called her.

"No, I won't leave it, Fern!" she retorted, making the other brunette jump.

"Thirty points from Hufflepuff," Professor Snape seethed. "Plus detention for shouting and disrespecting a teacher." He then rounded back on Fern. "And I suggest in future that you pay more attention in class instead of scribbling obscenities and Merlin-Knows-What in the back of books."

Fern tried so desperately to hold back her tears, but she couldn't.

Heidi looked to her heartbroken friend and placed a comforting hand on her arm. When Maxine had calmed down, she did the same.

Surely, he must have seen how sensitive and gentle the girl was over the six days she'd been at Hogwarts. Was this all a test? See how far he could push her before she cracked, or, as he soon found out, her imprudent Hufflepuff comrade.

Now he recalled the scene, she had only been writing notes on the subject. No one else had been.

Had he really intended to hurt her that much?

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><p><strong>AN: Well, that's that. Sorry if it's awful, but there you go.**

**Once again, reviews please and kindly inform me if I verge on OOC, or indeed if I bypass verging and wind up there straight away.**

**Review, please.**

**XX**


	8. Concern, Choir and Christmas

**A/N: Not much to say, except thanks to my reviewer... and why have I only received one? It isn't doing much for inspiration.**

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><p><strong>CHAPTER EIGHT: CONCERN, CHOIR AND CHRISTMAS<strong>

If there was one thing Fernanda Potter had learnt over the last few weeks, it was that, no matter how hard she tried (and disregarding how popular she was with the other teachers), she simply couldn't impress her Potions teacher, Professor Snape.

He seemed to really dislike her for some reason. Had she done something to hurt him? Had someone else done something to hurt him and he needed someone to even the score?

Whatever it was, Fern only knew that she didn't know and that he loathed her.

She had been allowed to use the Floo network in Professor McGonagall's office to go and see Nexus and had a talk with him about it.

Nexus' words were puzzling. He seemed to answer Fern's questions with more questions. But maybe, Fern supposed, he believed she would have to figure it out for herself. Maybe when she was older and more worldly-wise.

In spite of a certain unpleasant teacher who really had his dander up with the Girl-Who-Lived, she wasn't doing too badly at school. (She was passing all of her classes, bar Potions.)

"Surprise, surprise," Maxine had said with a great deal of irony.

She had also made a few more friends and would often get together with Maxine, Heidi, Neville and Cho for a chat.

Neville was often teased for hanging around with girls but Maxine was quick to put them straight.

She had wonderful conversations with Dora, in spite of the age gap, and thought her to be the funniest person she would ever know. If Fern was ever down-in-the-dumps, she knew she could count on Dora to cheer her up.

Dora had also pressured her into auditioning for the school choir and Professor Flitwick, the Charms Professor, was quick to accept her. Maybe Fern had more talent than she thought.

She had also had her first choir practice the last week in October and Professor Flitwick decided to start off by giving the students a solo of their choice to sing. This would, of course, determine which section each student would belong to.

Fern had hardly felt more nervous in her life.

"Sing your heart out, Fern," Dora encouraged, and pushed her forward.

For at least a minute, Fern stood in complete silence, too fretful to comprehend further action. Then she started, slowly and pausing, though her voice was ever so quiet but incredibly sweet.

_In my own little corner,  
>In my own little chair,<br>I can be  
>Whatever I want to be.<em>

_On the wing of my fancy,  
>I can fly anywhere,<br>And the world will  
>Open its arms to me.<em>

_I'm a young Norwegian princess,  
>Or milk maid;<br>I'm the greatest Prima Donna  
>In Milan.<em>

_I'm an heiress  
>Who had always had her silk made<br>By her own flock of silkworms  
>In Japan.<em>

_I'm a girl men go mad for  
>Love's a game I can play<br>With a cool and confident  
>Kind of air.<em>

_Just as long  
>As I stay in my own little corner<br>All alone, in my own  
>Little chair.<em>

She sang only a few verses, though they were easily enough for Professor Flitwick who immediately ticked her under 'Soprano.'

As November rolled by and Fern witnessed her first Quidditch match which, while probably not her cup of tea for playing, she did enjoy watching and would have to choose a team. Maxine was very quick to get her supporting the Appleby Arrows and Fern was happy to have something else to talk about with her friend.

Snow and ice had set in, along with a drastic temperature change. Every time Fern walked down the corridors to go to classes, she had to throw on her thick woolly cloak to keep warm.

Still, it was quite fun going outside for a snowball fight with her friends, the Weasley brothers, disregarding Percy who was none-too-pleased at her friendship with his family. She had enjoyed it.

Then again, it hadn't been so fun for Fern when Cho's friend and fellow Ravenclaw Marietta Edgecombe had purposely thrown a snowball at Fern's head.

Judging by the bruise which appeared a few hours later, Maxine suggested that the jealous girl must have put rocks in it or something.

"Please don't say unkind things, Maxine," Fern told her friend. "It was just an accident. It could have happened to anyone. I'm fine."

"It's not, Fern," her feisty companion growled. "Don't think I haven't noticed the way she glares at you in Charms, especially when you managed to levitate the feather and she couldn't even say the spell right."

"Maxi, can we please drop it? It's all in the past, so can we please just let sleeping dogs lie?"

Maxine had nodded a reluctant 'yes,' though was still not convinced Marietta was blameless.

December set in, and the choir was practicing for the End-of-Term Feast, a time when most students would go home for Christmas. However, there were a few who chose to stay.

The choir would be doing a small concert for Christmas and Professor Flitwick had chosen Fern to sing a solo piece.

There were an awful lot of people to sing to and Fern was so afraid of rejection. Still, she tried her best and even received applause for it, even though it was begrudged by many, including, of course, the man who seemed to hate her.

Then again, he had to admit, she certainly wasn't a terrible singer but she always seemed to jump at the slightest little detail in life, it was a wonder she managed to keep her composure.

Once he heard her sing, there was only one thought on his mind. 'Show off, just like her father.'

Fern went with Professor McGonagall to the cottage for the holidays and had the best Christmas she remembered.

She had asked her guardian a few weeks earlier if she would mind going out and getting presents for her friends. Fern handed Minerva a small bundle of galleons (though it seemed ever so large to Minerva.) There had to be at least a hundred pieces of gold, equal to five hundred pounds in the muggle world. It was official, the girl was mad.

"They've been so kind to me, Professor," Fern explained. "They've asked me for nothing and have offered their friendship to me. I couldn't ask for more. They deserve the best."

That said, Fern had handed the list to her teacher and she set off to do the Christmas shopping Fern wasn't allowed to, for Fern didn't possess the privilege to visit Hogsmeade for another two years.

Over the Christmas period, Fern had received a great many wonderful gifts from her friends, Professor McGonagall, Hagrid the groundskeeper and even Professor Dumbledore.

Everything she received, she would treasure, including a silver bracelet with two charms already attached, one a letter 'F,' the other a badger (her initial and House mascot) from Heidi.

From Maxine, she received an Appleby Arrows scarf, hat and glove set, along with a large book on the history of the team, from its founding in 1612 to the beginning of 1990. Clearly, Fern knew what team she was batting for, thanks to her friend.

Dora sent her, having found out from her mother how traditional the Potter family was, a lovely straw bonnet layered with royal purple velvet, adorned with lace and flowers and trimmed with violet ribbon. Attached was a note:

_Wotcher Fern,_

_Bought this to go with that pretty purple dress you wore to the Hallowe'en Party in the Common room. Hope you like it._

_Lozza luv,_

_Dora, x_

The not made Fern laugh a bit. "Gotta love Dora," she smiled.

Cho, as she found out, had sent her a diary, decorated with flowers and wild animals. Fern thought it was very sweet and patient of Cho to take notice of conversation that went on amongst the quintet. It was clearly recognised to Cho that Fern loved flowers and animals.

Cho's mother had also made a contribution and had put extension charms on it, so it would never run out of paper.

Neville, it seemed, had maybe taken some advice from his grandmother, as he sent Fern a silver anklet.

The Weasleys were another matter altogether. Charlie sent her a book on different creatures and the similarities and differences between the species.

From the twins, she received a hamper of some of their favourite joke items, along with a fair amount of sweet treats and from the remaining members, mainly their mother Molly, a home-spun jumper of purple wool with a white letter "F" on the front, along with a box of her own home-made fudge.

Hagrid, whom she had been to see a few times since the start of her first year, and found him to be rather amusing with his mannerisms, had sent her a beautiful silver flute which, in Fern's eyes must have cost a fortune.

She had heard him playing his self-made wooden flute and couldn't deny his talent in such delicate carving of a beautiful-sounding instrument. Strange then that he spent all that money on her when he could have easily made one just as beautiful as his own.

Fern certainly wouldn't complain, of course, though she would have to have a word with him when she returned.

With the flute came a music book which she didn't stall in learning how to play her new present.

From Professor Dumbledore, Fern was surprised to discover, she received an invisibility cloak. A note was attached, explaining how it was left to him ten years earlier and had belonged to her father, James.

That was something else. She hadn't known anything about either of her parents, not even their names and it hurt slightly to now identify herself.

She also received a few items from Minerva, of course, including a stationery set, complete with ostrich feather quill and some colour-changing ink.

Fern also received a large gold oval locket, upon which was engraved vines and flowers as well as her name.

Her guardian had told her that it had been her mother's, though when she was born, her parents had her name engraved on it. Fern loved the fact she now possessed a memory of each of her parents.

However, by a long shot, the biggest surprise of all came on Boxing Day.

Neither Minerva nor Fernanda were expecting visitors over Christmas, but Fern wouldn't like to be left out in the cold so she was the one to answer the door.

On the other side of the door stood a man of, to Fern's eyes, staggering height with dark hair and eyes. His face held signs of slow aging but didn't look at all threatening.

This man had turned out to be her father's cousin, her only living relative, Simon Potter.

He was welcomed rather graciously by her stern guardian and it was plain to see the two knew each other well and enjoyed the other's company.

Simon instantly became popular with Fern, as she did ask him if she could go and live with him.

Yes, it was nice living with Minerva in the quaint little cottage, but she didn't want to burden the woman who had a job to at Hogwarts. It would also be nice to live with a blood relative who was nothing like her maternal aunt and her family.

He accepted without hesitation and she left to pack away all of her possessions.

Just before leaving, she turned to her teacher. "Professor," she said, gently. "It has been really lovely living with you, but... Well, I hope it doesn't hurt your feelings but I'd quite like to live with my family."

Minerva certainly didn't object to that, though was taken aback by the girl's farewell, as she threw her arms around the aging woman and happily chanted "Thank you, thank you, thank you" with ecstasy. Saying that, she shouldn't have been surprised at all, considering the girl's habits with everyone she knew.

As she watched the girl skip down the garden path waving at her as she went, holding on to her cousin's hand, she suddenly felt morose. She had grown to care for the girl in the five months she had known her, but living with a teacher wasn't a good idea. She bade her goodbyes and returned to Hogwarts.

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><p><strong>AN: I know it's probably going a bit fast but everyone knows the real action doesn't start until 1991.**

**Also, can people please review? I like the fact that so many people are adding this story to their favourites list, but no one is reviewing.**

**Please, please, please. (Gives puppy-dog eyes.)**

**xx**


	9. Full Title Won't Fit

**A/N: Sorry for the extremely late update but lack of reviews doesn't exactly encourage any writer to continue, does it? Hint, hint.**

**It's nice that people are adding my story to their favourites, but I would also like it if I could get more reviews, please.**

**Also, happy birthday to both Emma Thompson and Emma Watson: 15****th**** April 1959 and 1990 respectively. Oh, and a belated one to Julie Christie: 14****th**** April 1941.**

**Oh, and there are also apologies for the Chapter Title. The Title is below in bold, but, as it says in the little box, "Full Title Won't Fit."**

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><p><strong>CHAPTER NINE: COUSINS, MUSIC LESSONS, BACK TO SCHOOL AND HOME AGAIN<strong>

Fern loved spending time with her cousin; getting to know him, his likes and dislikes, wants and fears. He had been so open with her, though not quite so at first.

After the first few days of knowing her, he realised how honest she was with him. She spoke ill of no one, held no prejudices and didn't judge. For one who had been so true to him, he couldn't very well, in his opinion, keep himself a secret.

Merlin only knew what she had endured at the hands of her mother's relatives.

He had met Lily at the wedding and found her to be a very sweet lady. He spoke to his cousin about her later that night.

"You've got a winner there, Jim," he smiled, using his cousin's old nickname.

"I know," James replied. "I hope any daughter of mine is just like her."

He had also found out that night from Lily about her sister Petunia, the magic-hating muggle.

Honestly, anything could have happened to Fern in Surrey.

New Year came and went and, no sooner had Simon and Fern really gotten to know each other, Fern had to return to Hogwarts. But not before Simon had hired a music teacher to help Fern learn the flute.

She had been grateful beyond words and reached to kiss him on the cheek.

She would have to ask at Hogwarts, of course, if it was still okay to pop out and see her snake and have her flute lessons on weekends, but she had developed a positive bond with Professor McGonagall. Surely the woman wouldn't deny her the opportunity?

Fern needn't have worried. The woman replied without hesitation. After all, how could anyone progress with an instrument without training?

So she did and was coming along rather nicely.

Any spare time she had outside of classes she spent sending letters to her cousin by the Potter family owl or, failing that, one of the school owls, hanging out with her friends and playing games, doing homework or studying or practicing her flute. And that was something else altogether.

The Hogwarts Express arrived with the students after Christmas and New Year on Sunday the 6th of January 1991.

The following day, she had resumed her lessons as normal, though not before skipping breakfast and running down to meet Hagrid at his hut to thank him for the flute.

He must have thought she was getting, in his words, most likely, 'mushy' with her actions, cuddling him every chance she got.

"You're a lovely man, Hagrid," she smiled. "Anyone who doesn't appreciate you is a fool." She had laughed when she said this so he knew the insult was a joke, though her words spoke nought but the truth.

She had also thanked her friends for all the lovely Christmas gifts and they likewise for the ones she had presented to them.

She had also started off writing in her diary, her first entry on New Year's Eve and loved the fact that she would never have to buy another, for the extension charm placed upon it. For this, she wrote a sincere 'Thank You' letter to Cho's mother.

Many words were spoken between the five first years, though sadly Cho couldn't always be a part of it.

Marietta often dragged her away for, as Maxine announced, 'so-called studying' with undeniable irony. "It's obvious she hates us," she raged, before correcting herself. "She hates you," she directed at Fern.

"It doesn't matter, Maxine. No one can be liked by everyone. It's just the same anywhere you go; you have your friends, you have your foes. It doesn't matter to me. I think you were all so lovely to befriend me in the first place, even before you knew my name. That's loyalty, honour... true friendship and I wouldn't trade any one of you for the world," had been Fern's complex reply, before sheepishly exiting in the other direction.

Just how a child could feel so passionate about other people, with little thought to herself, (sometimes even forgetting herself) various people couldn't understand.

Fern was doing very well in her studies and, with the exams coming up in May, she was studying as often as she could.

Of course, she was still having trouble with Potions. Professor Snape really seemed to dislike her, though she didn't know why.

He took pleasure in ridiculing her every chance he got for the potion being the wrong shade of a particular colour, a bit too thick, a bit too thin, not stirring enough, stirring too much. For Merlin's sake, she was only learning. Next to the other first years, she was the best in the class but Professor Snape would never admit that.

This class seemed to go on forever every time she stepped into the dungeon.

One morning late in March, Fern really lost her appetite. Professor Snape had given her detention for not keeping an eye on another person's potion and that person was at the back of the class. She wasn't born with eyes in the back of her head.

"He is so horrible," Maxine seethed. "What is his problem? What have you ever done to him?"

"Really, it doesn't matter, Maxine. And, if you don't mind, I'd rather not talk about it please," Fern said, her voice barely above a whisper, most likely for her sorrowed thoughts.

"But, all he ever seems to do is take points off you and hand out detentions, far more than he does to anyone else."

"Well then maybe I'm responsible for something that happened a long time ago; something that hurt him. I'm no expert, but it's a thought." She paused. "If I ever find out, though, the reason will probably be so clear that I won't think twice on the matter. Any reason Professor Snape has will be a very good one."

Nothing more was said on that statement.

In late May, the exams began and Fern had the jitters, fearing failure. She had asked her friends to blurt out random questions when she wasn't expecting it, as though it may help her in the long run.

The exams ran for two weeks, though there was the odd day without, which was helpful for revising for future tests.

Of course, the students wouldn't receive their results until mid-June, but Fern was fearing the worst.

It hadn't exactly been fair at her muggle primary school. Her Aunt and Uncle hated the idea of Fern being so much better at everything academic than their son. She once got full marks on a spelling test when she was seven and when, excited as she was, she went to tell them, she received a hard smack, was shouted at until her ears were ringing, the evidence of her success was torn before her eyes and she was locked in the cupboard the entire Christmas season that year.

Even the teachers at her muggle school preferred Dudley, but that was most likely only because they were scared of what would happen if he told his parents.

As she meandered through her memories, aimlessly walking down the corridor as if in a world of her own, she was brought back to Earth, so it seemed, as she bumped into something and fell backwards. That shook her out of her reminiscences and she was ever so apologetic when she realised who she knocked over.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Professor Flitwick. I don't know where my head's been lately." She held out her hand to help him up. He didn't take it, but that didn't mean he was about to metaphorically bite her head off.

"Quite alright, Miss Potter," he smiled as he got to his feet. "As a matter of fact, I was looking for you."

"Oh?" Fern responded, quizzically.

"Yes, I couldn't help but hear you practicing your flute in one of the disused classrooms the other day. I think you'd be nice to have in the school band. We have only brass at the moment, but we can make room for woodwind. I've always considered the flute to make a nice solo instrument. I'm sure you'll practice a lot over the summer holidays, and I was rather hoping you'd join in September?"

"That's a nice offer, Professor, but I'm already in the choir. I don't want people to think I'm a show off or a teacher's pet." The anxious lilt in the girl's voice gave some feeling of insecurity on her behalf for the small teacher. Silently, he speculated what her life was like before Hogwarts

"The only students who'd do a thing like that, Miss Potter, are the jealous ones with little more to do than make themselves feel better by attacking others."

He hoped those words worked, but about two minutes later, he received his most-wanted reply.

"Okay, Professor. I'll join in September."

"Wonderful. I knew I could count on you, Miss Potter," and, merrily, he continued on his way down the corridor. Fern was likewise in the other direction.

The following day was the Leaving Feast and Professor Dumbledore awarded the Quidditch Cup, announced the House Points and also presented the House Cup. Slytherin won all three. Hufflepuff failed to come any higher than fourth place, but this particular House hadn't been truly successful since 1917, as Fern had found out off Dora.

There was still a fortnight to go before the students would all return home and there were no more classes being held so the students were allowed to do what they so pleased (within reason, however, though that wouldn't stop the Weasley twins from instigating chaos.)

Fern would socialise with her friends some more or practice playing the flute.

A week after the Leaving Feast, the exam results came back and Fern was reduced to tears when she found out she got straight 'O' grades, particularly when she saw one next to 'Potions.'

And a week later, the Hogwarts Express returned to King's Cross station where Simon stood on the platform anticipating her return.

Gathering all her things as fast as she could, she virtually ran from the train and into his arms, so eager to see him. Of course she loved Hogwarts and the people of Hogwarts, but she also loved Simon and her own home. As Dorothy Gale said, of course, "There's no place like home."

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><p><strong>AN: Sorry this chapter is a bit naff and time is going a bit too fast, but people like the action of Harry Potter more than anything else in the HP world, don't they? (Unless people much prefer Quidditch.)**

**I'm sincerely hoping the next chapter will be better.**

**Once again, please review; give me some inspiration.**

**Also, are there any characters who weren't allies in Canon that people want to see on Fern's side in this story?**


	10. Title Won't Fit Again!

**A/N: Thanks to my reviewer zigra. I like receiving reviews but am disappointed that I'm not getting as many as I hoped. Thank you anyway, zigra. I'm just a bit confused by the phrase "What a self-command for heroine."**

**Can you please explain, be it in a PM or otherwise?**

**Also, sorry about the title but I haven't got a single idea what to call it.**

**A VERY HAPPY SUMMER AND RETURN TO HOGWARTS**

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><p>Since returning home for the summer holidays, Fern had never felt happier. She had made many new friends, received good grades on her exams and, quite frankly, couldn't wait to start again in September.<p>

She was also quite excited about joining the school band, so Simon arranged for her music teacher to increase the number of lessons she took in preparation for it.

As July drew to a close, Fern's birthday drew nearer, though she could never have anticipated the wonderful gifts she would be presented with.

She had a few parcels from her friends, one of which scared the living daylights out of her. It was off the Weasley twins and she nearly hit the ceiling when she opened an unnamed can, rather dubiously, and a big pink plastic snake went flying across the room. In spite of the shock, it certainly woke her up that morning and she couldn't help but laugh.

From the remaining Weasleys, she had received a book about the different species of dragon (clearly off the mad dragon fan Charlie.) From Mr and Mrs Weasley she got a box of home-made goodies, including peanut brittle, vanilla fudge and cauldron cakes and, rather shocked as she was, Fern got a letter off Ginny Weasley. This was what could only be called a fan letter so Fern was wary but the girl was sweet to say the things she said.

Maxine's parcel was both very small and very thin but Fern was ever-so pleased when she found out what it was. It was two tickets to attend the Appleby Arrows' next Quidditch match, which Maxine and her family would be attending. One ticket, clearly, was for Fern; the other for Simon.

Heidi sent her a few new charms for her bracelet, including a wand, for passing charms and transfiguration in her exams, a cauldron for potions and a telescope for her favourite subject, astronomy.

Whilst on the topic of astronomy, Cho sent her a complete atlas of the universe, which Fern had loved. With this large book, she would certainly never fail the class.

Dora had bought her a necklace, her name adorned in cursive gold, along with a simple, but pretty, gold bracelet to match (though this time with no name.)

Neville, knowing she liked to read, sent her the complete works of Jane Austen, which Fern was looking forward to reading at Hogwarts in her free time.

Professor McGonagall had sent her a strange-looking spherical object on a long gold chain. Simon told her that this was a time-turner and then explained the uses, such as going back in time to correct a mistake (though there was only so far a person could go back), returning to the past to change the results of an unfortunate event, such as an unnecessary death.

There were many uses of the time-turner, which would make their ways known to Fern in the fullness of time. And, while most people would use such a device to cheat, Fern hated it in other people, so would never commit such an act herself.

Hagrid had also sent her something. Rock cakes. He was a very nice man, granted, but he wasn't the best chef.

As she bit into one, albeit she only took a nibble, she pulled one of her back teeth out. Still, it saved the dentist the job of pulling it and it was, at least, a baby tooth; one that had been very stubborn as it had been loose for about six months, yet refused to cooperate.

And last, but most certainly not least, came the presents off Simon. She had honestly never had so many presents in her life. Simon, generous as he was, had presented her with more than Dudley had ever had in one sitting and they were so much more meaningful.

Of course, the best present of all was waiting in one of the fields.

Potter Manor, just in itself, was huge, but the grounds were twice as big. Built on many acres of land, every field served a different purpose.

The Potters had always been a family who valued hard-work. 'If you work for rewards, you appreciate them more,' was a motto passed down through the generations.

There were fields for all purposes. There were apple orchards; a field with a windmill and, in the same field, was a large wheat crop. There was even a vineyard, producing the best wine in Wizarding Britain (of course, it was controlled with magic to withstand the horrific weather.)

There were fields for grazing cows, sheep; some fields with pens for pigs and chickens and three with sturdy wooden fences.

There was also a barn which was home to a number of horses, one of which was new and Fern hadn't seen before.

Simon, with his hands over her eyes, slowly took her out to the barn. "No peeking," he teased, though he doubted she ever would.

He left her for a minute or two and soon she could hear the familiar tapping of metal on concrete. "Open your eyes," he said with a smiling voice.

And she did. In front of her stood a beautiful black shire horse, so much larger than the others on the grounds. Pepper and Naomi were only small ponies and, compared to them, he was nearly twice as big.

"He's beautiful, Simon," Fern smiled and made her way towards the equine creature, careful not to scare him by being excitable. She reached out a gentle hand to stroke his mane and he relaxed into the contact.

"He's your main birthday present and I know you'll look after him, though I must say it was a bit of a job trying to hide him. That's why I had to keep you out of the barn."

"Oh, Simon, you know I'd never go anywhere you told me not to, unless I really had to."

Smiling, he held out a riding hat and she took it without hesitation and ran back to the Manor to change into her jodhpurs and riding boots (another present she had opened half an hour before.)

Once she returned, he gave her a leg up and taught her the basics of riding a horse.

"What's his name, Simon?" she asked, leaning out of the saddle to hug the creature.

"Up to you, sweetheart," he replied.

"Jet," she spoke, without hesitation. "He's completely black, save for his hooves, but he's gorgeous."

Later that day, after a short ride, and feeling a little saddle sore, the pair went into Diagon Alley to get the items required for her second year at Hogwarts, though there was hardly anything needed, save for _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2_.

That was the first stop, needing only a few sickles for paying, before going into Madam Malkin's to get some new clothes made for the school year. She had grown a bit, but it wasn't very noticeable, so there was no need for new school robes.

Simon went off to browse while Fern was being measured for her new clothes.

As she entered, Fern took note of the blond boy stood upon the stool. She was sure he wasn't at Hogwarts last year; she'd have remembered that posture of self-importance.

"Hello. Hogwarts too?" he asked, not really bothered.

"Yes. Well, I actually came to have some more clothes made for Hogwarts," she replied, pleasantly.

"Oh, what house are you in?" he asked in such a tone that if she dared say anything other than Slytherin, he'd simply dismiss her like dragon dung on his shoe.

Instead, Fern said with unusual confidence, "Hufflepuff."

The boy scoffed. "Then you're clearly nothing more than a goody-goody and not worth my time."

Oh, if only he knew who she was; he'd certainly have time for her then.

"Excuse me, but Hufflepuff is no house to be sneered at. We value loyalty, hard work and fair play and, if I might say, there have been many wonderful witches and wizards who have made their name in the world who came from Hufflepuff," she defended, though her typical soft tone did not diminish into a menacing one.

"Oh, yeah? Name three," he challenged, smirking.

"Well..." She had to think about it, but this boy certainly didn't want to give her any time.

"See," he sneered, clearly believing himself to be right. "You're all a bunch of losers and I'd be surprised if Hufflepuff had ever won anything at Hogwarts."

"I've thought of three," Fern suggested, though doubted it would help.

"Oh, go on then. I've got to hear this!" This boy was so rude and arrogant, worse even than Dudley.

"Well, there's Bridget Wenlock, for a start. She was an arithmancer who discovered the magical properties of the number seven," she quoted, remembering what she'd read on a chocolate frog card. "And we've had two wonderful Ministers. Artemisia Lufkin, who was the first female Minister and then Grogan Stump after her in 1811."

"Yes, but they weren't the best, were they. It's not like they did anything really special like Merlin who was a Slytherin."

Fern was fed up of this boy and his self-righteous nature, so she just kept her mouth shut. She was glad when Madam Malkin came out to tend to her.

"Hello, Lady Fernanda," she greeted. "What is it this time? Do you need a new uniform?"

"No, thank you, Madam Malkin. It's just a few new clothes for casual wear." Saying that, Fern's casual wear wasn't really casual like her classmates who would be wearing jumpers and jeans; her wardrobe consisted of bloomers and bonnets.

"Lady Fernanda, did she say?" The boy had started up again. "You're actually Fernanda Potter, the Girl-Who-Lived?"

"Yes," was her reply.

"I'm sorry for what I said," he commented, though his apology was meaningless. "Why don't we start on a clean slate? We can be best friends."

Fern didn't need to think about this offer. "No, thank you."

She had always believed people deserved second chances, but that was in normal circumstances when she was just a normal girl. But this boy, having insulted her, her fellow Hufflepuffs and every Badger before her, suddenly thought it was alright to try and make amends just because he found out she was rich and famous.

"Nor am I a pureblood," she stated, before he asked. Hopefully he wouldn't bother her now, but he didn't care.

"Oh, what does that matter? You have a place in society, unlike some people. Blood traitors, mudblood-lovers; all bad eggs."

And there he went again; insulting everyone she loved. Fern, never a girl wanting to start a fight, just ignored him while she was being fitted. Unfortunately, his boasting was really getting on her wick and all she could hear in her ear was 'Brag, brag, brag.'

In all honesty, she was glad to be out of there when she finally got out but she couldn't leave without saying thank you and goodbye to Madam Malkin and paid her a tip just like last year.

Simon was waiting for her outside and, shrinking her bag of clothes to put in his pocket, led her to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. Together they shared a large chocolate sundae with profiteroles and what looked like a whole bottle of chocolate sauce.

Three weeks, later, Maxine and her family arrived at the Manor and all of them went to watch the Appleby Arrows' playing at Home. They were playing against their rivals, the Wimbourne Wasps, and, as soon as she saw that same boy from Madam Malkin's, her face fell into her hands, especially when the Arrows lost 180 to 20. Then again, the Wasps pulled a fast one and it was no wonder the brat from Diagon Alley supported them. Like his Quidditch team, he was most likely a cheater himself.

Maxine was outraged at the result and was shouting at the referee, "Are you blind?"

That night hadn't been a very good one, at least not for the Arrows fans.

The following week, the train left from King's Cross Station and, it hurt to say goodbye to Simon again, but she was so pleased to be back with all the other people she loved.

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><p><strong>AN: Well, there's another chapter done. My sincerest apologies if it isn't to everyone's liking but reviews are hard to come by. I like reviews; they give me inspiration to write more.**

**FOR VOLDEMORT'S SAKE, REVIEW!**

**Please**


	11. Back Into the Swing of Things

**A/N: Thanks to my reviewers. Your comments mean a lot to me. Also to all the nutters out there who have been kind enough to add my story to their alerts and favourites. A special thanks to the person who added me as a favourite author; that's something I ****didn't**** expect.**

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><p><strong>CHAPTER ONE: BACK INTO THE SWING OF THINGS<strong>

The previous year had been one big long routine, organised chaos if you will. When the summer holidays came, however, it threw Fern off track a bit. She would get up at the normal time and then think '_There's nothing to get up for_.' But then, because she was awake, there wasn't much point in going back to bed.

Where she would normally have got up, washed, dressed, brushed her teeth and grabbed her books before going down to breakfast and then to her first class, she would get up, washed, dressed, brush her teeth, have her breakfast and then try and find something to do.

She did love learning, true, but she had soon found things to occupy her time. She was riding Jet with ease, even if sometimes she had a limp leg from trotting or cantering. She would practice her flute, read a book; there was plenty to do. She'd even been out to pick a few apples from the orchard to make a pie and Simon had taught her the basics of grinding wheat into flour and churning butter. Fern would make the proper little housewife one day.

But the summer had flown by and she could resume the routine she had gotten so used to over the nine months she was at Hogwarts.

She and her friends had ridden to Hogwarts in carriages, which was an experience. The previous year, they had traversed across the Black Lake by boat, but they were only first years then.

Now, and for the next six years of their school lives, they would go via carriage; carriages that moved themselves, no less.

It wasn't long before they reached the castle and went their separate ways to their House Tables. There was an empty spot opposite Fern that Nymphadora Tonks had occupied the previous term, but all was not lost. They had conversed through letters and would continue to do so for as long as they possibly could.

Chatter was all around the Great Hall. 'What would the year bring?'

'What new spells do we get to learn?'

'What can we use to prank Snape?'

That last one, of course, was the Weasley twins. They were good-natured, agreed, but could be rather impish.

The chatter died down as Professor McGonagall entered with the new first years.

"I'm glad I'm not a first year anymore. I don't think I'd ever felt more nervous in my life," Fern admitted.

"What about your exam results? You didn't know what to do with your hands for a week," Heidi said, playfully.

"Well, I suppose I was a bit edgy," Fern admitted. "Still, I'm glad I was sorted here last year. I doubt I could ever be truly happy in any house other than Hufflepuff."

At the mention of their Founder's name, it seemed, the Fat Friar, the Hufflepuff House Ghost, made his appearance through the stone floor, making most of the Hufflepuffs jump with surprise.

"Hello, Friar," Fern greeted with a smile.

"Nice to see you again, Fern. Pleasant as always," he said before gliding towards the first years. "Hope to see you in Hufflepuff. My old House, you know."

The new first years looked in awe at their surroundings and one of them, a girl with bushy brown hair, was talking about the ceiling and the enchantments placed on it to represent the weather; something she read in _Hogwarts: A History_.

Meanwhile, a little way down the table, Finlay Milton was trying to catch Fern's attention. He wasn't very successful, though.

Maxine nudged Fern. "I think someone's got an admirer," she teased.

Fern looked down the table at the older boy. "I highly doubt it, Max. He's a fourth year. How could he possibly like a twelve year old?"

"Easily, if it was you."

Fern simply shook her head. If anyone wanted to have a crush on her, they'd have to be completely mad, she decided.

The Sorting soon began and the first two students, Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones, joined Hufflepuff. Susan took a seat beside Fern, Hannah sat opposite Susan.

As the Sorting Ceremony went on, it seemed Finlay the Fourth Year was getting exasperated at his various futile attempts to catch Fern's attention without looking too conspicuous.

Pulling a piece of parchment from his robes, and a quill, he scribbled a note, before sliding it across the table to Fern.

Puzzled slightly, she began to read:

_Fern,  
>Flitwick told us we'd be having a new band member this September. Don't know if you know when practice is but we usually do Saturday and Sunday mornings. We use that old disused classroom on the fourth floor. Hope to see you there.<br>Finlay Martin (trombonist)_

"What's that?" asked Maxine. "A love letter?"

"No. Just a note off Finlay to let me know about band practice and where to meet everyone. I'm quite excited, actually," she said.

Turning over the parchment, she began digging in her own pockets for a quill. The more she rooted, the further away she got from her desired object.

In all honesty, she seemed to have absolutely everything in her robes apart from a quill. After a strip of plasters, a hairbrush, a few ribbons and, for some inexplicable reason, a rubber duck later, she finally found one.

"What's with that?" Heidi asked, inquisitively, indicating the object normally used only for fun in the tub.

"If I'm blatantly honest, I've no idea. I don't know where it's come from."

"Probably those Weasley twins," Maxine suggested. "Snuck it in your pocket when you weren't looking."

"Oh, well, not to worry." Fern then, embarrassed, returned the object back to her pocket and wrote her reply on the reverse of the note.

_Dear Finlay,  
>I'll meet you there on Saturday. Is 10 o'clock a good time?<br>Love, Fern_

To anyone who read the note, the wording may have seemed a bit suggestive but that was as plain and simple as Fern looked in appearance.

She slid it back down the table and turned her attention back to the Sorting.

Draco Malfoy, the boy from Madam Malkin's (and from the Quidditch game) had just been sorted into Slytherin before the Hat had hardly touched his head.

"He's that brat, isn't he?" Maxine seethed. "He was at the Quidditch game gloating after the Wasps won. They cheated, though I don't suppose he'd care about fair play."

"Leave it, Max. It's really not worth getting yourself worked up. Let's just let sleeping dragons lie," Fern said.

As the names were read, Fern's next excitement was Ronald Weasley. If he was halfway as decent as his brothers, he'd be in Gryffindor. He certainly turned out to be, judging from the relatively short time he sat beneath the Hat. He breathed a giant sigh of relief when his fate was called, amid the cheers from the table decked out in scarlet and gold.

The last person to be called was a boy named Blaise Zabini who had a foreign look to him. He went to Slytherin.

Once he had been announced, Professor Dumbledore rose from his seat.

"Welcome students, old and new. Before we dine, I have a few start-of-term notices I wish to announce. The first years, please note that the forest is strictly forbidden to all students. Also, our caretaker Mr. Filch has asked me to remind you that the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to anyone who does not wish to die a most painful death. Now that that's all over, let the Feast begin," and the tables were suddenly filled with platters of meat, vegetables and cakes.

The Welcoming Feast was something Maxine was overjoyed to see. "Thank Merlin for this, I'm starving," she exclaimed, digging her fork into her sausage.

"But you had a right binge on the train," Heidi argued. "You went through two pumpkin pasties, three cauldron cakes, eight chocolate frogs and a pack of Bertie Bott's. How can you possibly be hungry?"

"Believe it or not, Heidi, I am. Only when I end up with my head over the toilet bowl in the middle of night can you complain," the other girl defended, ready to wolf the lot down. Those words, however, had made Fern lose her appetite. It wasn't an idea she'd like to picture, especially when she was having her tea. Gingerly, she pushed it away. The conversation was still there though.

Soon enough, the time came for the students to all return to their House Common Rooms, though not before singing the Hogwarts School Song.

Once through the Portrait Hole, Fern was stopped by Finlay. Maxine and Heidi continued up the stairs to get ready for bed.

"Oh, hiya, Finlay. Are you alright?" she smiled.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Erm... I wasn't very clear with that note for times. We normally start practice together at ten and then through till lunch. Sometimes we do it around three as well, so, I hope to see you next Saturday?" he questioned.

"Yeah, of course. I'd hate to let you all down. I'll try and practice on my own this week; see if I can get a bit better for all of you. Goodnight," and she skipped up the stairs to the second year girls' dormitory.

The first thing she did upon entry was let Socks out of his box. Immediately, he jumped into her arms for a cuddle. She kissed him before setting him down on the floor and digging through her trunk for her toiletries and nightie.

She then proceeded to get ready for bed. She returned ten minutes later in her nightdress, her uniform folded under her arm. Setting it down on the dresser for the morning, she got her hairbrush and a ribbon out of her robe pocket and did her hair. It was still down to her knees and she had contemplated cutting it but after what happened last time, it probably wasn't a good idea.

It was Aunt Petunia. So annoyed at the length of her niece's hair, she chopped it all off and was forced to go into school the next day like a ragamuffin. Fern had never felt so humiliated having to walk in there, with her hair all over the place and, as if that wasn't bad enough, it was shorter than the hair some of the boys had.

The next morning, however, it had grown back the way it was, though it was twice as long.

As she sat on her bed, brushing her brown curls, she pondered. It was a year since Professor McGonagall had taken her from the Dursleys and it had certainly flown. Time had always seemed to go by so slowly at Privet Drive.

But none of that mattered now. She was loved by all the people she loved and that was enough for Fern.

She then set her hairbrush on top of her uniform, tied her hair out of her face with a pale pink ribbon, using it like a headband, and turned out the lamp.

Tomorrow, lessons would start again and she, quite frankly, couldn't wait.

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><p><strong>AN: So there's another chapter done, though I'm not overly pleased with it. Still, I'm sure there are worse chapters somewhere out there.**

**Once again, please review. I love them.**


	12. Back to Normal

**A/N: Thanks to those reviewers who have given me a bit of encouragement.**

**But I do like reviews; they inspire me a bit more and I also like to find out what other people like in stories; that only opens the door for more plots and I, personally, find it very helpful.**

**Such as, I believe I said in an earlier, chapter, I'd like to know who people want Fern to have as allies, rather than enemies. I do have a few ideas, but I also respect the opinions of others.**

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><p><strong>CHAPTER TWELVE: BACK TO NORMAL<strong>

Fern woke up the following morning with a smile on her face as she rolled over in bed. '_Such a lovely dream_,' she thought. She opened her eyes, though only slightly, for she was awfully drowsy. The clock certainly woke her up. "It's ten to nine!" she screamed, jumping out of bed. "Wake up everybody; we have to be at Potions in ten minutes!"

Naturally, everybody had to sleep in on the morning they had the least understanding teacher.

Fern went over to her dorm-mates, trying to wake each one in turn, though ever so gently. "Nicola... Doris... Heidi..." It worked for them, but Maxine was ever so stubborn.

"Tell him I'm in the Arctic," Maxine moaned, groggily.

"Please, Maxi, you've got to wake up. If you're late on the first day, he'll have your guts for garters."

"Oh, well then tell him the gypsies took me."

Normally Fern would have told her friend that it wasn't politically correct, but, instead, she sighed, defeated, and went to get washed and dressed.

"Where are my shoes, for goodness sake?" Doris exclaimed, agitated, before she looked at Nicola, finding the sandy-haired girl hopping on one leg trying to get her own shoes on. "Give me my shoes!" Doris lunged at her dorm mate in a rather humorous manner.

"These are mine. Yours are in the bathroom," Nicola challenged.

"No, those are my shoes," the other girl snapped, pointing to Nicola's.

"Will you shut up?" Maxine yelled before she plopped her head back down on the pillow.

"It's okay, Doris, they're in here," Fern called from the bathroom.

"Told you," Nicola said.

Doris and Nicola weren't the only ones aggravating Maxine, however. Heidi was crawling under the beds.

"This is no time for Hide-and-Seek," Maxine said, through gritted teeth.

"That why she's called Heidi?" Nicola joked. Doris laughed, their previous feud forgotten.

"I'm not playing Hide-and-Seek, Max, I'm looking for my books," Heidi replied.

"Well, you should have sorted them out last night."

"Oh, aye," Heidi confronted. "Speaks the girl who refuses to get out of bed. At least we're making some sort of effort."

"Shut your gob," Maxine demanded and went back to sleep.

Doris looked thoughtful. She turned to Nicola. They were good friends, not enemies as one would have previously thought. "Shall we?"

It would seem Nicola knew exactly what Doris was planning as they both walked at the same pace into the bathroom. They could easily win a three-legged race.

Nicola searched for a bucket. She knew she'd seen one last night. Doris, meanwhile, ran the bath tap.

"Bit late for a bath, Doris? We've only got ten minutes," Fern questioned, her tone completely harmless.

"It's not for me," the blond whispered, as a sign for Fern to keep her mouth shut.

Nicola returned and placed the bucket under the tap.

"Oh," was Fern's response. She wouldn't wish a rude awakening on anybody, though she couldn't help but smile. Her friend was certainly very stubborn and when Maxine didn't want to do something, Maxine didn't do it.

The girl in question, it seemed, was completely oblivious to running the tap and the clunk of the bucket.

Doris quickly grabbed her shoes, one from under the sink; the other from behind the toilet. "It's almost as if they have a mind of their own," she said, before she and Nicola both grabbed the handle of the bucket and lifted it out of the bath. (If there was one thing for certain, it was that Doris Irlam and Nicola Dodworth would certainly give the Weasley wins a run for their money.)

'_I really wouldn't want to be Maxine right now_,' Fern thought. She shut her eyes as if in pain had overcome her and then... a very... loud...

_SPLASH!_

Then came a sound that quite literally scared the living daylights out of Fern. It sounded as though someone had let loose a rabid dog with all the menacing growls she heard.

"Perhaps it's time to go to class," Fern said to herself and hastily grabbed her belongings and jogged down the stairs and out of the common room. She didn't stop until she reached the dungeon classroom, five minutes late. She shut the door behind her, leaned against it and sighed. "Thank Merlin for that," she whispered.

"I see the Girl-Who-Lived thinks she can get away with tardiness. Well, not in my classroom. Fifty points from Hufflepuff."

Yes, Professor Snape still held nothing but contempt for her. Even if he had allowed her to explain, she doubted he would listen. Everyone in the school knew that Professor Snape never believed anyone who wasn't a Slytherin.

Dejected, she took her seat; the same one as last year.

"Don't suppose you'd care to share with the class where your dorm mates are, Potter?" he sneered.

Okay, that was a tough one. Should she lie and say they had all come down with Dragon Pox overnight or tell him the truth that they were having a slanging match in the dormitory?

'_It couldn't hurt, could it?_' she thought. After all the mischief in the dormitory, she was tempted to lie and tell the Dragon Pox story. It would certainly get a few titters.

Maybe it _could_ hurt.

"We overslept," Fern explained, honestly. "They're still getting ready." That was the truth, but maybe a little fib couldn't hurt. "I was the first one up so they let me use the bathroom before them."

Secretly to herself, however, she was thinking '_It's half-true. They were too busy arguing, so I took my opportunity._'

He didn't believe it for a second. "Take a further thirty points from Hufflepuff, Potter, for blatant lies."

Strangely enough, in spite of the point loss, her fellow Hufflepuffs (all the males in her year) looked sympathetic.

Geoff Kennerley, who was sitting behind her, leaned over to whisper, while Professor Snape's back was turned, writing on the blackboard.

"Don't worry, Fern. It's not your fault." His voice was soft and kind.

Fern turned her head slightly and allowed him a grateful smile.

As the lesson wore on, Fern got thinking, dangerous as it was. Would Professor Snape have been more lenient had she been in another House? She silently wondered about Gryffindor. Professor Snape was certainly not keen on Gryffindors, but he loathed Hufflepuffs. No one, she realised, likes anybody who shows off, but no one likes a wuss either. '_At least the Gryffindors can stand up for themselves. They're brave. What can I do, except sit down and take it?_'

That was just the thing. She'd taken it for so long, she let it happen, like it was second nature.

So deep in thought, as she was, she had completely forgotten she was in the middle of brewing a potion and only snapped out of her musings when the liquid inside the cauldron began to spill over the top, a green froth creeping along her desk. She hadn't noticed it, however, until she felt something very wet and very hot as it burned her bare arm. (She had previously taken off her robes and rolled up her sleeves.)

"Ah!" she exclaimed, as quietly as she could, and her immediate reaction was to turn off the Bunsen burner, before she caressed her arm.

Typical Fern, that was. Considering the safety of everyone else before she dealt with herself.

As Professor Snape sauntered down the aisles between the desks, examining everybody's potions with a criticising eye, he noticed that the belated Hufflepuff was also very lazy today. She was doing nothing whatsoever with her potion. He'd make sure to pick on her again this lesson; get her to pull her finger out.

"I see that Potter is also very like her father," Snape sneered. "Indolent and supercilious. Manual labour must be left to those of a lesser blood status."

If there were Slytherins in this class, there would be gales of raucous laughter. But this was the class for the more reserved students and there wasn't a single student laughing, though Marietta Edgecombe was tempted.

The Potter heiress didn't flinch. She simply stood there looking straight ahead. Even when he walked around to her, her body was unmoving.

Then he noticed silent tears dripping down her cheeks, clutching her arm and looked at the desk where there was a green lather happily bubbling away.

"Idiot girl!" he barked. "Potions are intended to be monitored constantly, not ignored completely."

"She did turn the Bunsen burner off," Geoff defended his housemate.

"Oh, and that makes the situation sound so much better, Kennerley?" the teacher sneered. "Well, seeing as how you are so keen, you can take this foolish girl to the Hospital Wing. I can bottle up this potion and try it on her next week."

That did it for Geoff. The boy escorted Fern to the Hospital Wing, though once he'd dropped her off and explained to Madam Pomfrey what went wrong; he went to find his Head of House. Professor Sprout was a 'No-Nonsense' woman.

Worried, he gently knocked on the greenhouse door and the teacher diverted her full attention from the sixth year N.E.W.T. class she had been teaching to the second year standing in front of her.

"Yes, Mr. Kennerley?" she queried. "Aren't you supposed to be in Potions now?" There wasn't much that got past Professor Sprout; then again, she was the one who handed out the timetables.

"Yes, but I had to take Fern Potter to the Hospital Wing. She had a bit of bad luck with her potion and Professor Snape wasn't exactly helping. And I thought I should tell you, no matter what people will think of me slagging off a teacher, but he threatened to bottle her potion and give it to her next week. That's all, Professor," he spoke frank.

"Well, threatening a student is certainly out of my rulebook. He'll get a rightful earful when I see him. Thank you for telling me. I'll be in to check on Potter after."

"Bye, Professor," Geoff said and returned to his class.

Once that, class was over, of course, things got steadily worse.

By the end of the week, everybody knew of Fern's misfortune and many of them, mostly the Slytherin students, were picking on her.

Fern just ignored everything that was said to her.

Defence Against the Dark Arts hadn't been too good, either.

Whenever Professor Quirrell turned around, Fern would get a searing pain in her chest and she had to fight to not double over in pain and give her fellow students the impression that she was a total wimp. She'd had enough of that already and could certainly have done without it.

Saturday she'd been looking forward too, though, so she found it easier to cope with the miseries earlier in the week. She made sure to keep her arms covered for practice; there were a great many unsightly blemishes on her skin, and not just from the burnt potion. Though, that burn had been patched up very well. Fern had told Madam Pomfrey how wonderful she was; quick and careful, kind and considerate. Of course, Fern said this when she was ready to leave the Hospital Wing, and, before she could notice the pink tinge appearing on the Healer's cheeks, she was hastily shooed out. Somehow, she wondered if Madam Pomfrey had ever been told of her qualities, though, the reaction she received told Fern 'Maybe not.'

Band practice was fun, Fern decided and made a great many new friends. True, they were all brass players, but for once it was nice to be different. Most likely she wouldn't be heard over brass, for the flute was an incredibly quiet instrument, though it was beautiful for solos, maybe even for duets.

She also had choir practice which she enjoyed.

The following week felt much like the last, and so did the next... and the next...

There was some good news for Fern, as Maxine and Heidi announced that they'd made the Quidditch team as Beaters. "That's fantastic," she exclaimed.

"Yeah," Heidi replied, though she didn't sound too happy. "It's a shame you didn't try out. Your father played Quidditch."

"Oh, no, I couldn't. Well, it's one thing that I already have band and choir practice, but I also fear flying."

They hadn't known that.

"You didn't have a problem last year," Maxine was shocked.

"Well, we didn't have it all the time and... well... Now that I think about it, I don't think it's so much a fear of flying, but rather a fear of smacking into the ground."

The two girls laughed at that.

"But you ride a horse; you're never scared of him bucking you off."

"I know my horse would never do that unless something got him worked up. He's so calm, I know he'd never willingly hurt me. Plus, broomsticks have been known to malfunction."

"Only when cursed," Heidi put forward, though she doubted if anyone would be stupid enough to curse a broom at Hogwarts without getting caught.

The following morning, in the middle of their breakfast, the mail arrived. There were a few giggles at the Gryffindor table, the trio of girls heard as an owl dropped a package into Neville's cereal. That made a bit of a mess of his robes.

"Poor Neville," she whispered, biting his lip. "He's really unlucky."

Fern, meanwhile had received a large box of sweets from Simon. There weren't just Wizarding sweets, either. He had recently taken a trip to America and promised that he'd take her there one day. The package, was therefore also chocker block with muggle goodies from America, but also Britain. He'd gotten a lot from the duty-free, having decided to travel the muggle way, by aeroplane.

"Flaming heck!" Maxine exclaimed. "Has he sent enough for Christmas?"

Fern laughed. "I don't know, but he's so sweet to."

Of course, with the mail comes the newspaper. Fern took a quick glance over Heidi's shoulder. "Do you mind if I read?" she asked.

Heidi shrugged as if to say, 'Be my guest.' Fern took the offered paper and was startled by the headline.

"Gringotts has had break-in," she announced. "31st of July. My birthday."

"But that was two months ago. There a bit behind the times, aren't they?" Maxine commented.

As she read through the article, made a few more discoveries. "That's strange. They break in, but they don't take anything. But it does, say that the vault had been emptied earlier in the day. It's all very peculiar," she said.

Little did she know things were about to get more peculiar.

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><p><strong>AN: Well, that's that chapter done. I'm sorry about being so fussy about wanting reviews, but it is nice to have a bit of incentive to continue writing. Once more, maybe lend forth some ideas for allies. If you wouldn't want to spoil in a review, PM me. I'm always glad of a chat.**

**I also apologise if the Canon characters are out of character. If they are, please tell me and I'll try and fix them to the best of my ability.**

**xx**


	13. Troll in the Dungeon!

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN: "TROLL IN THE DUNGEON!"**

The next couple of weeks went by without too many hitches and there didn't appear to be anything suspicious going on as of yet, in spite of the newspaper article.

The Hufflepuff House table was relatively peaceful, as indeed was the Ravenclaw table. However, both the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables were at war, though that was normal.

Draco Malfoy had taken to bullying both his fellow first years and even older students. Neville was a particular favourite of his. Neville had received a Remembrall not a week before and the spoiled Slytherin took it upon himself to snatch it from the older boy's hand. He was soon stopped, however, by Professor McGonagall creeping up behind him. Fern had to allow herself a smile at the teacher; she could be quite sly herself.

"Just looking," Draco had said, though no one believed him, except his fellow Slytherins, including Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, who often followed him around ready to beat someone up who dared disagree with their fellow Slytherin.

Neville was only relieved when he didn't try it again. It was a gift from his grandmother. Fern seriously doubted that she would reprimand him if it broke when it wasn't his fault.

The chest pains she was getting were growing steadily worse and more intense. Strange that she only really seemed to have them in Defence Against the Dark Arts, though sometimes, she got them when in the Great Hall for meals.

Potions was still just as it had always been; Professor Snape singling her out, but she simply tried to ignore it as best she could; it would surely only give him a reason to test her more if she retaliated.

The injury that occurred in said class a couple of weeks earlier was healing very nicely thanks to Madam Pomfrey, for which Fern was grateful. She'd had enough scars up and down her limbs; she could certainly do without another one.

The amount of homework was gradually increasing, most students struggling with it. Fern did her best to attempt it, even if it wasn't always completely correct. When she handed in her Herbology homework, she did get a few points for effort, though she would probably not have even got that were it not for the fact that Neville had helped her a little and that Professor Sprout seemed to love her.

Perhaps it wasn't her fame that drew the Hufflepuff Head to her, but rather her values and good nature, though Fern was oblivious.

As Autumn set in, a chill began to creep through the school. Many of the older students began to cuddle each other to keep warm, though Maxine suspected otherwise.

Nicola and Doris had, in fact, joined the group of friends. They hadn't really done much the previous year; mostly kept to themselves, though Fern graciously accepted them with open arms to the Circle of Friends.

Hallowe'en was fast approaching and with it would come plenty of treats a small party in the Hufflepuff Common Room. Fern had actually not touched the goodies Simon sent her, rather preferring to share them out amongst all her friends and housemates.

Unfortunately, things don't always go to plan and the school was a bit shaken up on the 31st of October.

Of course, something came before Hallowe'en for Fern.

Simon had told her all he knew of her parents, including their birth and death dates. Fern had visited both Professor Sprout and Headmaster Dumbledore with a query on whether or not she would be allowed to visit her parents' graves. They accepted, though she would need an escort. For some bizarre reason it was suggested by the Headmaster to request someone unapproachable to the twelve-year-old. Professor Snape?

Just why he would choose a teacher who seemed to really dislike her, she doubted she would ever know. However, begrudged as he was to do it, he accepted.

It was a Thursday, which was, regrettably, a school day so she had limited time. However, she was glad that Hufflepuff didn't have their first class until after lunch.

It was decided she may have three hours to herself, so they would leave after breakfast. Fern, however, was wary of what her Professor would say to her wish for visiting a florist's shop to pick out a lovely big bouquet of flowers. After all, it had been ten years, and the poor girl had no recollection of either of her parents or their friends, having only been two at the time. It begged the question if anybody knew of what had happened when they were two.

Resentful as he was, he allowed her to, but he had to fight back his want of buying a small bouquet, if only for a certain someone.

They had side-along apparated to Godric's Hollow, though the teacher was furious at having to take care of the brat, not least of all have her hold on to him.

They approached the small basilica and cemetery and, while it was far from being a noticeable sight to an outsider, it held so dear to Fern's heart.

The wind was slowly picking up and her hair began to flutter in the cool breeze. It was getting rather chilly around this time of year, and she was glad she put her woollen cloak on.

She didn't know where her parents' grave was, though, which, quite frankly, broke her heart.

Everyone should know where their kin were laid to rest but it was the one thing Simon forgot to tell her.

Swallowing the lump of sorrow in her throat and brushing away a few stray tears, she went to examine all the monuments. There weren't many to choose from, but it was still quite an arduous task, as most of the epitaphs were faded through weathering.

After about ten minutes, however, she found it. She knelt down in front of it. "I'm sorry you both had to die to save me," she wept, as she laid the beautiful bouquet in front of the memorial. "I have often wondered about the both of you. I can't remember what either of you look like or how you were. I don't suppose I'll ever know, either. Still, I want to thank you both, even thought I'll never know you. You both brought me into this world and neither of you gave up on each other or me. I know, Daddy, that you were protecting all three of us, though putting yourself last. And Mother... thank you for giving me a chance at life. It's had its ups and downs, I know, but there are people in far worse situations than me."

Meanwhile, the once discreet listening had turned into his own personal horror. Surely this was all a front, to try and impress him; try and make her look good?

"There are people starving... innocents in gaol... children from broken homes. I'm quite lucky to be where I am. I love you." That said, she kissed her cold fingers and caressed the two names of 'Lily' and 'James.'

That was something he hadn't expected. Those words hurt him and he was sure she intended to commit such an act. Was that those words had only been spoken in jest when directed towards him? He had to bite his lip at the thought, his usual cold eyes now morose.

With that, she stood up and wiped the tears of her cheeks with her cloak. She then returned to her Professor. "I'm ready to go back to Hogwarts now. I just wanted to tell them..." She couldn't finish her sentence, however, and had to fight back another sob. "Ten years."

Yes, ten years was too long.

Once they returned to Hogwarts, the teacher without a word, Fern went off by herself in the hope of some peace and quiet; time to wonder about what her parents were really like.

At about half past eleven, her friends found her sitting under the tree by the Black Lake. She appeared to be watching the Giant Squid, but she was merely thinking over past events and what may have been.

But, now that she thought about it, what was the point with maybes? They were only more depressing than reality itself. She knew she couldn't bring people back from the dead and would be a fool to try.

After a few minutes of talking, they managed to coax her out of her hopes and tried telling jokes to make her laugh. Alas, she did not and the only person who could cheer her up now was off training to be an Auror. Where was Dora when you needed her?

As they were walking across the courtyard, Fern was nearly knocked off her feet by someone pushing past her.

"Watch where you're going!" Maxine yelled after the, in her opinion 'rude,' girl.

"I don't think she intended to, Maxine. I'd say she was upset. I've seen her in the library a fair few times and can honestly say that she doesn't look the type." Fern paused for a moment. "I must go to her. She may want someone to talk to. I don't think she has many friends."

Fern then followed the bushy-haired brunette.

"Excuse me?" Fern called, softly. "Are you alright?"

"Go away," was the tearful reply and the girl ran into the bathroom on the first floor.

"Please let me help you. Tell me what's wrong; you'll feel a lot better."

"There's nothing you can do," the girl replied, in a snappy tone.

Fern was very strange. This girl could have outright insulted her an all she stood for, but she'd never have the heart to turn her back on her.

"Maybe I can. Has someone upset you?"

She received no reply, through the locked door.

After a few short moments, Fern spoke again. "Well, I'll still be here if you want me," and she moved across toward the sinks, leaning on one.

To her misfortune however, it seemed she temporarily forgot that sinks were often more damp than arid. And then, as she stood up, she attempted to look at the back of her skirt through the mirror, her face turned into one of disappointment. A wet patch. Unfortunately, it was the day she decided to wear a white dress and it probably wouldn't be so bad but her petticoats were also drenched.

She stayed in there just for a couple of hours, mainly trying to dry off. She would have attempted a drying charm, but she'd never tried one before and would, more than likely, wind up more wet than dry.

It wasn't until around three o'clock that she realised. "Oh, no," she sighed. She forgot it was Thursday. She had a double lesson of Defence Against the Dark Arts. "You aren't going to believe this, Hermione," she told the girl who wouldn't talk. "I thought it was Saturday. I forgot I had a class this afternoon." She was trying to lighten the mood, but it hadn't paid off.

Technically, she wasn't malingering, she had genuinely lost track of the time and day. But, it was too late to go now; the class would be over in three minutes.

But surely, Professor Quirrell wouldn't judge her too harshly? (She could explain later that evening, if Hermione decided to come out.)

She did have rather a lot on her mind, what with the ten-year anniversary of her parents' deaths and hoping that one day she would see them as they were and will always be, young and beautiful. And then there was Hermione and her problem.

Teatime soon came around, but Fern wasn't really hungry.

With a heavy sigh, she returned to the cubicle door.

"Please, Hermione, come out. I can help you. If somebody's said something to you, I can talk to them if you like."

"No, he was right," came the tearful reply. Who was right? "I am a nightmare."

"I'm sure you're not, Hermione," Fern said, quietly. "Whoever said that?"

"Ron Weasley." She paused. "He also said it's no wonder I have no friends."

"Oh, Hermione," Fern shook her head in disbelief. "I'm stood here talking to you. I'm trying to help you. I'm your friend."

There wasn't much more to be said on that matter, as the first-year Gryffindor fell very quiet. After a few minutes, a foul odour hit Fern's sinuses and she nearly had to rush into a cubicle, but she managed to force the bile back down her gullet.

"I don't know what that is, Hermione, but it's not very pleasant."

Not many moments later, a loud thudding could be heard along with a number of grunts.

'_I don't like the sound of that_,' Fern thought.

She turned on the spot with fright. It did sound very vicious and, just as a precaution, she whipped her wand out from its residence inside her corset. It was rather an old-fashioned idea, but it seemed to work. She wondered if that's where witches used to hold their wand when they weren't using them.

As the thudding got closer and closer, Fern only became more and more anxious. She began silently talking to herself with her head bowed to the floor.

After a very short while, the floor appeared to be disappearing. Either that or it was being over-taken.

There were two foreign bodies, grey and smothered in unsightly lumps and bumps with a few warts thrown in. They were feet and certainly very big.

Fern's terrified emerald eyes slowly rose up the intruder's body. Two dumpy legs... some sort of loin cloth hiding the impostor's privates, a bulbous stomach covered with even more warts. There were two fat arms, limp at the side of the creature, one holding a large wooden club and finally an ugly head with large ears.

To Fern, it looked as though the head should be on the body of another creature. In proportion to the size of its belly, its head was rather small.

Regardless of what the Hufflepuff thought, however, there was no mistaking what this thing was. A troll, about ten-foot tall.

"Hermione," she whispered, barely able to get her words out, "please promise me you'll stay where you are; that you won't come out of that cubicle."

Trolls couldn't speak English, of course and, in spite of their known stupidity, it could tell that she was giving help to the girl hiding behind the door.

Hermione didn't utter a word in response, for fear of being found out, though she probably guessed it already knew.

As the troll raised its club, Fern took this as her opportunity to attempt to dodge out of the way and slid under his other arm. This seemed to confuse him slightly as his club dropped to the floor with a thud and he looked around quizzically for his current foe.

"Oh, Merlin. Now what?" she asked. She really didn't know what she could do. Trolls weren't something she had studied in any class at the moment. Knowing her luck, however, Professor Quirrell had probably had his students studying them earlier in the day.

The troll raised its club again, but this time it smashed the top halves off five cubicles.

"Hermione, get out of his sight! He can see you!" Fern's words were in no way demanding, the only thing she wanted was for her fellow student to get herself to safety.

As pieces of wood clattered to the floor, Fern moved, as quietly as she could, to a place where the troll couldn't see her, yet she could see to levitate some of the wood.

"Wingardium Leviosa," she willed the wood to move for her, even if she could only whisper. For concentration, she shut her eyes.

Sure enough, the wood slowly levitated towards her. The troll's eyes were so fixed on Hermione, he hadn't noticed it.

Once it was in front of her, she nearly threw her wand at him, wanting so desperately for him to leave them alone. Really, she was throwing the wood scrap, but the force nearly forced her wand out of her grip.

The wood hit him but it didn't seem to be working. The troll shook its head and looked around stupidly.

Hermione scarpered over to the sinks.

No sooner had she managed to, hopefully, get out of his vision, that he swung the club at the sinks and the Gryffindor had to scramble to get out of the way. The troll nearly took her leg off.

"Help!" she cried.

As the troll swung its club back again, raring for another attack, Fern began the incantation once more. This time she had to shout it.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" but it was too loud and his attention turned to her.

He snatched her roughly by the leg and held her upside down. She knew what was coming.

Ron Weasley then came through the door, wand brandished. "Oi, you!" she shouted, picking up a sliver of wood and hurling it at the monster's head.

Fern, meanwhile, was trying her best to avoid the club which kept swinging at her full-force.

The young redhead was trying his best to distract the troll or find some way to take him down. By the time he realised what he could do, Fern had been hit by the club, right in the head and she fell to the wet floor in a heap, her eyes half-shut, blood pouring from her scalp, staining both the water and the floor red. There was also a clear gash dripping blood from her forehead and into her ear.

She heard Ron use the levitation charm flawlessly, though her vision was blurred when the club hit the troll on the head.

She felt the vibration of the troll hitting the floor with its weight and it wasn't long before her eyes closed, her bloody head lolling off to the side.


	14. You Will Meet a Tall, Dark Stranger

**A/N: Thank you so much for the positive feedback. Not quite sure what else to say, so how about we just get on with this?**

**Oh and to Nell123, the reason she is one year ahead is my way of being different. Everyone automatically gives her birth year as 1980, they always put her into Gryffindor and she's always friends with Ron and Hermione straight away. I thought it would be nice to introduce some new Canon characters we know nothing about, but, Ron and Hermione will come into the plot in good time.**

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><p><strong>CHAPTER FOURTEEN: YOU WILL MEET A TALL DARK STRANGER<strong>

"Lay her down," came the no-nonsense order of Madam Pomfrey.

The Potions Master did as he was told and, if he was completely honest, he was glad to be rid of the burden. He had been made to carry the dead-weight all the way up to the fourth floor. He felt nothing but a numbing sensation in his arms and pins and needles in his fingertips.

The girl didn't stir at all. If they hadn't known she was still breathing, they'd have all assumed the knock had killed her.

The girl was drenched. The bathroom floor hadn't taken long to get soaked, but with all the sinks broken, what more could be expected?

The blood on her forehead had made its way down her arm by this time and the substance was flowing freely from her scalp. Surely, she hadn't hit her head that hard.

After only a minute, the pillow was almost completely red and something told the Healer that there was more to it than the troll's act.

As she lifted the girl up into a sitting position, she examined her scalp. Old wounds were being opened up. She could see the scars; the brown flakes what once were scabs. They were bleeding without restraint, staining both the girl's hair and her own robes.

The Potions Master looked at his own robes; then at his hands. He had her blood on his hands. "Petunia," he decided, in a deadly whisper that most certainly didn't go unnoticed.

The teachers had scattered, attempting to find anything to ease the amount of blood lost and the pain the poor girl was experiencing, even if she was only half-alive.

She had towels stacked up underneath her head and ice cold flannels being taken on and off her temple.

Unfortunately, there wasn't much more the teachers could to, so left Madam Pomfrey to it.

For four days, the Healer received little response from the girl, only a shudder as she had another ice pack on her head.

Sadly, however, most likely due to all the cold, she soon began shivering and the colour of her face drastically changed from white to magenta. A mixture of blood loss and ice had presented her with a fever.

Madam Pomfrey honestly didn't know what to do. As if the pestering of the girl's friends and the fever wasn't enough, the girl would cry in her sleep and scream things she hoped she'd never have to hear.

"Not, there, please! I won't do it again!"

Then she would hear a heart-rending sob and her begs for mercy.

The Headmaster had came along at one point and was greeted with a very tearful colleague. "She's delirious," she wept.

Dumbledore had then entered the Hospital Wing and approached the only occupied bed.

Fernanda would writhe with the nightmares, the bad memories and the aging Headmaster felt rather remorseful as he witnessed her terrified state.

"I should have listened to Severus ten years ago, darling girl," he whispered solemn, knowing full well that she would never be able to comprehend even a single syllable, let alone string a sentence together at this point. "He told me himself, he would have gladly taken you himself, rather than have you live with your aunt." He paused and began to pace. "I have made a great many mistakes in my time, though I'm afraid to say my decision a decade ago was one of the worst I have made."

He had left not long after that, but not before stroking her cheek tenderly with his forefinger.

People would arrive, much to the displeasure of the School Nurse, if only to give 'Get Well Soon' cards or sweets. Cho had arrived with some flowers; she knew Fern loved flowers. Nicola had brought Socks down to her as well, in the hope that he could somehow help her improve.

As he gently hopped on the bed, he immediately rubbed himself against his owner's arm, before nuzzling his nose into her neck. He would go to sleep with his paw on her hand.

Fern seemed to be in there for an eternity, even though it was only five weeks. That was unfortunate. She had missed a whole month of vital schooling all down to a troll.

One morning in early December, Madam Pomfrey sat by the girl's side, gently brushing her tangled locks.

Due to all the blood, it was a nightmare for the Healer to try and wash the girl's hair thoroughly, but she sadly had to cut it to stand a chance. Her hair had begun to really stick to her face and it could have easily become a haven for all kinds of bugs waiting to feast on the juicy substance.

She had finally managed to clean the girl's hair as best she could. However, it was a shame to the Healer that she had to remove the girl's beautiful curls in order to prevent the matter from getting worse.

Imagine her surprise then, when the following day arrived and she approached the bed to find the thick brown locks wending their way to the foot of the bed and grazing the floor.

Fern's hair had to be twice as long as it had been before it was cut, maybe more.

Two days later, the girl began to stir from her coma as her fever slowly commenced passing over.

Madam Pomfrey had fire-called the Headmaster as best he could and had considered doing the same for the girl's cousin, but it was known that he was currently on business in China and Dumbledore felt that he could really do without the worry when she consulted him.

As they stood over her bed, they both watched her return to reality, even if she was still quite out of it.

"Is this heaven?" she asked innocently. Had she been fully aware of where she was, she'd know, but the Hospital Wing was quite bright, even without the windows, though they had only added to her delusion.

Dumbledore shook his head 'no' with a small smile.

"My head hurts... It burns..." she was on the verge of tears. It didn't matter who a person was, but when they were in that much pain they cried too.

"Just rest," he told her softly. "We're only too glad you're here with us now."

"Professor?" she called, weakly, holding out her hand to him and he took it in his. "Don't leave me."

"I won't leave you, dear girl. Just close your eyes and try to go back to sleep," he spoke in a soft tone. If there was one thing she could be doing without at the moment, it was most certainly a migraine.

Slowly she drifted off into a silent slumber and he placed her hand back on the bed. "Remember, I'm with you always," he whispered, before exiting the Hospital Wing.

Night soon faded in and, with a great deal off her mind for the girl's welfare, the Healer decided to take a hard-earned break and for the first time in weeks had a decent night's sleep.

While the remainder of the castle was sleeping, however, there was one resident who was far from resting his tired eyes.

Ever-so quietly, he made his way down the long corridors.

He made doubly sure to check there was no one in his own sight before dashing into the Hospital Wing and locking the door behind him, a 'Silencio' the only word currently emitting from his larynx.

The cloaked figure made his way over to the bed where the girl lay.

"You may have escaped death this time, girlie, but I'll be back, have no fear."

Fern was up like a shot with both surprise and fear. But that didn't do much for her ailment and she fell back down on the pillow, her head throbbing with even the slightest movement.

"Who are you?" she asked, completely terrified. "Where am I?"

"You're in your worst nightmare, girl," the voice sneered. "And you needn't act so surprised, you should have seen it coming."

"What do you want with me?" Fern asked softly, attempting to keep a steady voice.

"Your life is what I want. Your fool of a mother gave hers for yours ten years ago and I will have my vengeance. You will die before the school year is out, Fernanda Potter."

The figure then cast two spells. Fern couldn't hear the first one but she soon realised she didn't need to know what the second one was, as she heard the familiar click of a lock. That sound was probably more familiar to her than anyone she knew.

The cloaked man... creature... whatever he was, then left without another word.

Then, not for the first time in her life, her confused, frightened mind willed her to cry.

Realising Socks was on her bed, she wasted no time in reaching out to him for a source of comfort. In return, he purred against her as a way of saying, "Don't worry, I'm here."


	15. Hades' Pet

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN: HADES' PET**

Fern was slowly recovering from her ailment, but it wasn't enough for her. She only wished she could be allowed to catch up on both her class work and homework, but Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let her. Was it that she was concerned of the girl over-working herself and making herself more ill than she already was?

In all honesty, however, the cruel visitor hadn't helped Fern's recuperation, but set her back a few stages and she was having nightmares about him, though she didn't have the heart to tell the frantic Healer.

It was the last week of term before Fern was finally able to be out of bed. There were no classes for that week, which gave the students plenty of time to chat with their friends before they were to board the Hogwarts Express to take them home for the Christmas holidays.

Fern was disappointed, though, that her year-long friends were all going home for the break, but knew it could be far worse, where she didn't have any friends at all.

Unfortunately, Simon was still out of action on a business deal. He had been to plenty of places since September and was currently in India offering help to poor merchants regarding travel, what with the temporary ban on flying carpets.

There were a fair few trials currently going on over the matter, where a rather large number of muggles had witnessed the unconventional mode of travel. Surely, only Aladdin could get away with such an act?

Simon couldn't go home to be with his young cousin, as much as he wanted to, so Fern decided to stay at Hogwarts over the Christmas break.

She started off on Monday night, slowly making her way down towards her dormitory, which would certainly feel nice having the pleasant company return.

She had to take it slow, for her legs were quite weak. Well, that plus the fact that if she was too rough with her actions, it may have set off a severe headache. They weren't as common as they had been, but once she got them, they were incredibly hard to shake off, even with pain relief potions.

Since having her hair now trailing on the floor, she found the only way to get around with getting hurt was to wrap it around her forearm. If she knew where it was, she knew it wouldn't get caught.

Fern had been puzzled when she found out it was far longer than it had been, but Madam Pomfrey didn't hesitate in admitting to her conduct.

Fern had smiled back in understanding with just the simple explanation that once cut it would only grow back with more zeal and wind up twice as long as before.

It had felt quite strange to the older ex-Hufflepuff. There weren't many people who could say they'd met Rapunzel (even if she was a brunette.)

Regardless, she made her way down the steps, Socks never once leaving her side. That was until, however, the mistress and familiar having heard the family mewing of another cat in the corridor. Then the voice of the school caretaker, Mr. Filch, which certainly got Fern worried.

"Anyone here, my sweet?"

Fern saw the end of the corridor slowly being bathed with a yellow light. He had his lantern out, ready to catch unfortunate students out of bed.

Socks, rather a sensible cat, ran back down the hallway to try and find some place to hide.

Fern did the same, but, not realising, entered through a wooden door she had unlocked with a simple 'Alohamora.'

She was glad she hadn't been discovered, but then, as she looked to the floor she saw two very large front paws, individual claws longer than her individual fingers.

Slowly, her eyes fell on three heads. They were dog heads. She'd read about this monster that guarded the gates of hell, a Cerberus.

Fern's hands dropped to her side in panic, her tightly-wound hair unravelling from her wrist and falling to the floor.

As the beast began to stir, she had to fight against the scream threatening to make itself known.

It rose up to a gargantuan height, easily four times taller than Fern and began to growl. One normal-sized growling dog was bad enough, but three giant canine heads sharing the same body and with a size so much larger than a regular dog, Fern was ready for the inevitable – be prepared to get eaten alive!

What possessed her to do it, she didn't know, but putting her arms out in front of her in a position that said to the creature, 'Easy,' he calmed.

"I won't hurt you," she said softly, though she was, quite frankly, terrified.

The dog's growls began to slowly diminish and he retreated back to the floor he was standing on.

Fern heard the faint clatter of metal and looked down at the beast's feet.

There was a large metal ring on a hinge resting upon a square of slatted wood.

Tenderly, Fern stretched out one hand to caress the dog's paw. As she stroked him, he relaxed into the comfort of her touch and moved his other front paw slowly back, revealing the wood and metal to Fern's eyes.

As if she had been invited by the canine of larger-than-average proportions, she took hold of the metal ring and pulled. So it was a door.

Looking down, however, Fern noticed that it was ever so dark and worried that if the dog would now decide to betray her and push her in that she'd never get out again. She needn't have worried, though. The guardian of the Underworld no longer seemed bothered by her intrusion, but more inquisitive instead.

"What's down there?" she asked the beast. "This is a door in a..." she paused, "... rather large cupboard on the third floor. Professor Dumbledore warned us not to use this side of the castle."

The dog tilted each one of its heads to the side. "There must be something of great value in the castle, for you to be here. They've trusted you to protect it, haven't they? I think they'd made a wise decision. You won't tell anyone, will you? That I was down here?"

The dog began to whine, the monster of before having completely disappeared and in its place a relatively normal, if abnormally large, three-headed dog in a submissive state had appeared.

"You know I like the sweet Cerberus more than the aggressive one," she smiled and, with more courage than she'd ever felt in her life, shut the trapdoor and bravely approached the hellhound to stroke his leg. "See you're not so scary," she whispered and leaned her own head against his leg.

The dog must have been thinking all sorts of things about this strange girl who disturbed his slumber, no doubt to cause trouble, and yet she posed no threat whatsoever.

After a short while, she stepped away from the hound and pressed her ear to the door. She could hear the footsteps of Mr. Filch and the mewing of Mrs. Norris, suspicious of the loud growling that had suddenly fallen into complete silence.

"Can I stay here please?" she asked. "I'd rather try and stay on his good side if I can by not approaching him at all."

And so she did, with three nods of approval. She sat against the door and waited until the caretaker had taken his leave. She whispered to the dog for conversation whilst waiting. So what if he couldn't understand, it was nice just to be able to talk without judgement from the other party.

"I wonder what Hades would say if I had befriended you," she smiled, hearing the caretaker's footsteps getting fainter.

"Come on," he told his feline friend.

In all honesty, Fern was glad he was gone and moved to exit, until the dog placed his paw on her hair to stop her. So, she thought she'd leave without saying 'Goodbye,' did she?

Feeling herself getting yanked back, but ever so gently, she smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry. I must go now but I would love to see you again. If I can, I'll try and bring you some dinner next time."

Then, leaning down, she kissed the paw that was holding her hair and she felt the beast release her.

"Goodbye for now," she whispered and opened the door slightly. Seeing that Mr. Filch had taken his leave (and no longer hearing his footsteps) she shut the door and locked it behind her, leaving it just the way it had been previously. "It's okay, Socks. You can come out now," she called, gently and the cat gladly came out of his hiding place. "Let's go back to the dormitory."


	16. MiseryPunzel

**MISERY-PUNZEL**

There were few students staying at Hogwarts for the Christmas holidays. The majority were on their way home, though not before bidding farewell to their friends.

The large body of Hufflepuffs had all gone home for the holidays, with one exception. Simon Potter was still out of action, no doubt stuck in France where the language barrier was prominent, even though Simon was all right with his French.

It would be very strange for Fern to have both her dormitory and the Common Room to herself, but very lonely.

As she watched the last of the students file out through the main door, she approached her Head of House in the Great Hall.

"Er... E-E-Excuse me?" she interrupted, albeit politely.

Judging by her stammer when she was either nervous or unsure (or sometimes both), you'd think she was Professor Quirrell's daughter.

"Ah, yes, Miss Potter? Not going home this year?" a jovial Professor Sprout questioned, undeniably glad for a bit of peace and quiet.

"No," was the young brunette's reply. "My cousin's still travelling. I don't know where he is at the moment, but I gather he must have run into a spot of trouble somewhere. I only hope it isn't serious."

"So do I," the woman spoke earnestly.

After a short pause, Fern shook herself out of her musings. "Well, I was wondering if I might have some company for the next two weeks. The rest of my Housemates have all gone home and..." She looked down, slightly pink with embarrassment.

"You'll be very lonely," the woman finished off with a chuckle. "No need to feel so uncomfortable, dear girl. I shall make arrangements that you may be with your friends. You're rather good friends with the Weasley boys, are you not?"

"Yes. As a matter of fact I am."

"Then would you care to reside with them in Gryffindor Tower? There's nothing worse than being on your own," the woman said finally, before a peculiar expression adorned her features.

Fern noticed the woman looked rather deep in thought. Then she glanced around the remaining inhabitants in the Great Hall and her eyes fell on the Potions Master. He was often alone and just think what kind of person he was? Fern had often made a mental note to herself to never judge a book by its cover but it was rather hard with this particular wizard. He was so stern and harsh; cruel sometimes. Fern certainly didn't want to turn out like him.

'_Please tell me it's just that nobody's ever cared about him_,' she thought to herself. Surely his behaviour isn't without reason?

As both badgers returned from the reveries, Fern spoke. "Are you sure that will be okay? Being in the company of only boys?"

"I shouldn't think there'd be a problem," the woman replied, confidently. "I'll just have a word with Minerva; make sure her lions keep their zips up," and, with a wink, approached her colleague.

Fern attempted to stifle a giggle but it didn't work and she immediately had to think of something unfortunate to take her mind off the amusing thought... and even that was all for nought.

As she moved to walk away, still laughing, she ran into the same man she had been thinking of not two minutes before. He soon wiped the Cheshire Cat grin off her face and her contented eyes dissolved into miserable ones.

"Why don't you open your eyes, Potter?" he snarled, making her jump. Uncle Vernon used to say things like that in that same unpleasant manner and she waited with a pained expression for her punishment...

But it never came; the teacher just brushed past her in an irritated manner.

Saying that, any teacher to punish a student with violence would soon be out of the door with their cards.

'_I don't know what happened to turn you into this, Professor, but you must be able to forgive and forget anyone who's hurt you. I have_,' she thought, without a single ounce of bitterness. It was true.

So maybe she was a fool, but it never did to bear grudges; many people die with them, never having the chance to make amends. These people probably die of guilt more than anything.

Shaking her head, she approached her first-year friend. Well, maybe they weren't, but she classed him as one. He took down the troll, didn't he; to save both Hermione and herself, with precious little thought to his own life?

The young redhead was playing chess with an older Ravenclaw student named Yvonne Bampton.

Fern didn't really know her all that well, but she'd always been pleasant enough to say 'Hello' in passing. Now it was her turn to say it first.

"Hello," she smiled.

"Oh, hi Fern," Ron said, with surprise. "You're feeling better then, I take it?"

"Much better, Ron, thank you for your concern. Who's winning?" she asked, out of general curiosity.

"Well he keeps putting me in check with his queen and his rooks; it's dead annoying," the Ravenclaw laughed. Her tone was light-hearted.

"Are we at the stalemate stage?" Fern asked.

"Not yet, cause she's still got four pawns," Ron replied, rather self-satisfied. His body language told the two females he was joking.

"Yeah and you've blocked them all off with yours," the girl replied in the same tone.

Fern just laughed. Then she wondered why she had never exchanged more than 'Hellos' with this girl; she was certainly likeable.

"Excuse me," Fern asked, politely. "What's your name please?"

"Yvonne. Yvonne Bampton. Third year Ravenclaw."

"Why have I never said more to you? You're lovely," Fern smiled.

That got the girl blushing. "You are to call me."

"No, but you are. You're a bundle of fun, Yvonne, and I'd feel honoured if you'd accept my proposal of friendship."

"You talk like this is the eighteenth century," Yvonne joked.

"Wait 'til you see her wardrobe," Ron joked.

"You're not supposed to know about that," Fern responded in embarrassment.

"I knew enough about it to begin with," he replied. "Every time I see you, you're wearing either a dress with a great massive skirt, a bonnet or ribbons in your hair."

Fern just shook her head at the boy's notice of her prominent attire, including what she was currently wearing. She looked down at herself and sighed. How could she possibly have forgotten?

She was currently wearing a blue dress (over eight petticoats, for certain) with white satin trim at the hem, a white frilly apron and a big blue ribbon in her hair.

"Am I that predictable?" she asked, no ounce of spite evident in her words.

The boy just nodded in response with a lop-sided grin.

A silence fell over the trio before Ron decided to ask something; in his mind, a rather personal question. "Wasn't your hair shorter at Hallowe'en? It wasn't on the floor last time?"

"I can explain that," Fern replied, without hesitation. "Well, what happened was that Madam Pomfrey had to cut it in order to wash it, but she didn't know. Nobody's known and it's the first time I'll have told anybody."

The four ears were eager for the gritty details.

"I think I was three when it first happened. My Aunt decided my hair was getting a bit long and she cut it. The thing was, though, that she cut it so short that everyone thought I was a boy. There was a lot of ridiculing the rest of that day but by the next morning it had grown back, but twice as long and it's been doing it ever since."

"Sounds to me like she cut it against your will and it wants revenge," Yvonne put in.

"Maybe, I don't know."

Fern decided not to dwell on the thought and instead turned her mind back to the chessboard in front of them.

The redhead set the pieces up again for another match. "You up for it, Fern?" he asked.

"Why not?" she replied. Turning to Yvonne, she spoke again. "You don't mind, do you?"

"It's a free country," the girl replied. "I might go and get a book or something."

"Oh, please don't spend your time alone. If I've interrupted your social life and spoilt your fun, then please return to playing chess. I don't mind watching." For some reason, she Hufflepuff always seemed to feel as though she were to blame for the miseries of others.

"No, I'm fine," Yvonne responded.

"Please?" Fern gave the puppy-dog eyes that children often gave when they were in trouble.

Sighing, defeated, Yvonne replied. "Oh, all right then," and the smile had returned to her new friend's features.

"Tell you what; I've still got a big box of goodies in my dormitory that my cousin sent to me. I can't eat them on my own. I'll be back in a tick," and she went to her dormitory in the Hufflepuff basement.

Not five minutes later, she returned to the ground floor, but not before seeing a lone student sitting on the staircase reading a book. Whatever he was reading, it must have been good, for he was engrossed.

"Hello," she smiled, tentatively.

The boy looked up but didn't say anything.

"Is that book good?" she asked, trying to make pleasant conversation. "What is it?"

He lifted the book up to show her the cover. _Quidditch Through the Ages_. "Do you play yourself?"

"As a matter of fact I do," the boy said, though his tone wasn't entirely pleasant.

"I'm sorry," Fern's apology was indisputable, "it's just that I don't recall seeing you last year and I missed the first game of the season this term."

"It's all right," the boy shrugged. His tone had gone from irritated to neutral, and he placed his now-closed book down on the stair. He gestured for Fern to sit down and she did, but not before pulling all her hair around to the front half of her body. It could hurt her scalp when it got sat on.

"Well, that's a lot of hair," he commented.

"I know, but I'm afraid I can't do much about it."

Changing the subject, she spoke again. "May I ask why you're alone, at the one time of the year when you're to be with either your friends and, or, your family?"

"You may," he replied, honestly. "In all honesty, I'm not completely welcome at home. And I find little satisfaction in the company of my Housemates."

"What House are you in?" Fern asked, out of genuine curiosity.

"Slytherin," the boy commented, with little pride. "They all came from nothing, just like the rest of us. Why do they always feel as though they're better than everyone else?"

"Are you not a pureblood then?" Fern questioned. "Is that why you don't like them... or why they don't like you?"

"No, I am a pureblood," the boy replied, aggravated at his fellow Housemates who weren't currently present, "and I am proud of being one, but some of the things they come out with..." He shook his head and sighed heavily. "All the horrible things they say, they're disgracing themselves and all other purebloods."

"I take it that their insults are generally directed at half-bloods and muggle-borns?" sounded the curious Hufflepuff's voice.

"And Squibs. Even magical creatures. They all call them Half-Breeds. I suppose they're right to a point, but they aren't wild beasts that just need to be chained up forevermore."

"That's terrible. How can anybody possibly behave so cruelly to anyone; any animal, anything alive or dead?"

"I don't know. I just try to ignore them as best I can and you should do the same. If they think you don't care, it'll really annoy them. It's quite funny to watch them sulk." Realising where his manners were, after his little rant, he held out his hand. "Adrian Pucey," he introduced.

Timidly, she took his offered hand.

"Well, I'm..."

"I know who you are. Everybody knows who you are. Fernanda Potter, aren't you?"

"Yes," Fern's head lowered dejectedly. Some days she really wished she was someone else. She'd do absolutely anything to be a normal person and not be forced to feel the guilt of murdering her own mother.

Adrian then released her hand as he witnessed her sorrow first-hand.

"Don't get upset. You killed You-Know-Who when it mattered the most. You stopped thousands of other witches and wizards dying," Adrian encouraged, trying to prove the point of her success.

"Yet, I couldn't allow my own parents to be spared," she responded miserably, as she placed the box down on the stairs beside the book, stood and exited the building.

The Slytherin could only stand there and watch his first real friend drown in her own sorrow, her hair sliding through his fingers. He had previously reached out to her, but then thought the better of it, and brought his hand down. Then, however, he felt her hair in his hand.

As he watched the last few strands of hair fall between his fingers, he heard the click of the large double doors and then she was gone.

He'd just leave her be for a while, sure she'd return when she was ready.

Then he considered her presence. Her appearance immediately suggested 'Rapunzel,' though her demeanour caused him to devise a name for morose state.

She had slowly become rather miserable, he noticed, as they continued in their conversation, but he blamed himself for it.

In the end he decided on two names.

When she was happy, he'd call her 'Rapunzel.' When she was sorrowful, however, he'd have to call her 'Misery-Punzel.'

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><p><strong>AN: Okay, sorry if this Chapter is all over the place, only I've had a bit of writer's block, but I didn't want to keep you waiting any longer.**

**P.S. Thank you to all my reviewers and those of you who are nice enough to add me to your favourites.**


	17. Unity

**A/N: Sorry for the late update. But of writer's block, I'm afraid.**

**Thanks so much for the nice reviews and the favourites. Greatly appreciated.**

**I also apologise for grammar issues. Sometimes, I think the site does it deliberately to make us look thick, lol.**

**If you can please point out when and where, then I can sort it out. I have been meaning to sort it out, believe me, but I always forget. Sorry, xx**

**Oh and happy birthday, Dobby - 28th June**

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><p><strong>UNITY<strong>

And return Fern did. After about fifteen minutes, she did return, though Adrian expected only from the cold. The fact that she had her hands folded over her arms and was shivering slightly only confirmed his beliefs.

"I'm fine," she told him, before the question could even cross his mind. "I just wanted time to think on the matter. I'm sorry for leaving you like that."

"No worries. It was my fault," he replied, in an apologetic tone.

"No. I shouldn't have mentioned it, in spite of how true it is." That said, she sighed, dejectedly, and sat beside him.

Adrian knew deep down it wasn't her fault. How could a two-year-old possibly save her parents from death? Still, he didn't press on the matter, for fear of upsetting her again.

"Listen, Adrian. Would you like to join us? I was actually on my way back to my friends. Ron and Yvonne were playing chess and I decided I'd go and get the sweets my cousin sent me to share. You're perfectly welcome."

"But I'm a Slytherin," he stated, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"And I'm a Hufflepuff. Nothing wrong with that. Everybody's different and I think stereotypes are both cruel and unfair, particularly to decent human beings such as yourself."

Lifting the box and setting it on her lap, she held out her right hand.

To his own surprise, Adrian took it. Why would anyone, not least of all the Girl-Who-Lived, willingly be so nice to him and offer him what no one else ever had with such compassion and affection?

"Come on," she smiled, and got to her feet, pulling Adrian with her. Clamping the box under her free arm, she led her new friend into the Great Hall and straight over to Ron and Yvonne. "I've brought company," she said.

"You've been gone ages. You haven't been to the toilet have you?" Ron asked. Whether it was out of bafflement or the basis for a joke, Fern wasn't sure.

"No," she answered, honestly.

"Well, I was beginning to think you'd fallen down it," he joked.

Yvonne groaned. "Should have seen that one coming."

"Well, when I say 'company'," Fern interjected, preferring to change subject over Ron's little joke, no doubt received off his older twin brothers, "I mean a friend. Adrian Pucey, this is Ron Weasley and Yvonne Bampton."

"I know the Puceys. They're one of those pureblood families who believe that anyone less than a pureblood Slytherin should be sent to live with the muggle lovers in the muggle world," Ron snapped.

"That's unkind, Ron," Fern defended. "Who told you that?"

"Everyone knows. They're like the Malfoys," he started again.

"Adrian isn't," she said, without faltering.

The boy in question looked on at the brunette, shock overpowering his previously expressionless features. Yvonne didn't exactly seem as though she expected it, either.

"What?"

"He isn't like the other Slytherins that I've known. For one, he's on his own and Slytherins usually stand with each other, just like Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs do..."

But before she could even think about uttering another syllable, a chill overcame her and, in her shock, unlinked her hand from Adrian's so fast, it was almost as though he was harbouring disease. Then, she slowly turned around and her eyes met the intimidating figure of one Severus Snape. All she wanted at that moment, was to shrink and disguise herself as a chess piece, as she looked at the current characters scuttling off for cover on the checked board.

"What problems are you causing now, Potter?"

"N-N-Nothing, Professor. I-I-I-I just..."

"Quiet," he snarled.

"Fernanda was defending my honour, sir," Adrian spoke with great confidence. "She believes that I'm a decent person and only wished to confirm that to her friends."

The teacher glanced to the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw in question.

"It's true, Professor," Yvonne said. "Ron had made a comment about him being just like the rest of his family and Fern stepped in to break up the fight before it started."

The redhead's cheeks had turned very pink and his head was bowed in shame. Fern noticed he looked rather guilty, and stretched out her arm to hold his hand in comfort.

"I don't think a fight would have started, Professor," Fern said, her eyes never leaving the culpable Gryffindor. "If anything was going to occur, it may only have been a competition between them, but I still don't condone prejudice."

Was the Professor hearing correctly? A twelve-year-old was using words that other children her age wouldn't have a clue about. 'Condone?' What did that mean to any other second-year student? It certainly meant a lot to the Potter girl.

"Very well," he spoke, his voice rather threatening, more so than he intended. "If I hear of any more trouble where you're concerned, Potter, I shall be forced to take disciplinary action" and he sauntered off in the opposite direction.

"What a git? You didn't start it!" Ron seethed.

"Of course she didn't; you did," Yvonne put forth.

Fernanda turned her attention to the chess board and the quivering figures.

"It's all right, Queenie, he's gone," Fern smiled, as the chess piece in question poked her head out in front of her husband who she'd been hiding behind to look left and right and ensure he was actually gone before she returned to her original square. The other pieces did the same.

"Anyway, I'm calling it quits for today," Yvonne said. "There's no way I can beat him." She turned to Adrian. "Do you fancy your chances?"

"In a friendly match, yes," he replied, holding his hand out to the staggered lion.

If there was one thing Ron Weasley never expected, it was to receive an offer of friendship from a Slytherin. Still, he shook his schoolmate's hand and they set about starting another game.

Fern set the box down on the table, as Yvonne moved along the bench to make room for Adrian.

"Have what you like," Fern offered, opening the box. "I can't eat it all myself."

Her three friends each took something, albeit they were tentative, before Fern decided to take out a chocolate bar herself.

As the chess match wore on with suspense hotting up, Yvonne turned her attention to Fern.

"Do you worry about people standing on your hair?" the Ravenclaw asked, out of genuine curiosity.

"Sometimes. Mainly in busy corridors, though. Why?" the brunette replied.

"It's just that I have something that might work. It won't last through the night, but you won't have to worry during the day?" Yvonne suggested, questioning.

"You can try?" the Hufflepuff accepted and her female friend left to gather her desired equipment.

About fifteen minutes later (which would have been much sooner, were it not for the fact that Ravenclaw Tower was the highest point at Hogwarts Castle.)

Yvonne practically threw the contents of her arms on the table. Still, if she hadn't, she'd have dropped them anyway.

"What's all that for?" Ron asked, quizzically, taking his eyes off the game while Adrian pondered on his next move.

"Just an idea," she replied, before turning to Fern. "Do you mind if I try and put your hair up? You won't have to worry about it then."

Removing the ribbon from her hair, Fern accepted the offered help.

Slowly, she felt the gentle strokes of a hairbrush. Fern had always had thick hair and it did knot rather easily, but Yvonne was very gentle and Fern hardly felt any of the knots.

She found it quite therapeutic, if she was perfectly honest, having someone willingly do her hair, without having to ask them. She felt her hair go into a tight ponytail... then plaited halfway down, leaving a long tassel of curls. She felt Yvonne twist the plait around the original ponytail until the click of a hair grip was heard and clamped into place, leaving her curls falling down to her waist. That certainly made a change from having to wrap it around her wrist all the time and she found it more comfortable. It would also make life easier in practical classes such as Herbology and Potions, where she would either have it snatched by a venomous tentacula or have to face a point loss for 'refusing to cut her hair.'

"Thanks, Yvonne. I'll have to remember this one."

"You ever need help, just ask," and she took a seat beside Adrian. Fern was next to Ron watching the game, intently.

It felt like hours before the game was finally finished, but Ron still won.

They had lunch, and got to know each other a little more before they had tea and went off to their respective dormitories, though Fern was now going to be residing with the Weasley boys, who had decided that they would all sleep by the fire in the common room, with the exception of Percy.

Percy still didn't care very much for Fern but if she minded, she never said anything. No, he was going to remain in his dormitory. The twins had a little quip about their brother's decision, but a few short words from Fern, for example, "Please leave him alone" soon stopped them.

Before she went to meet up with them, however, she left to go and see Fluffy, taking with her some chicken she had saved from dinner. After enlarging the scraps, with a spell she had found from a standard spell book, she entered, making sure not to make a sound.

As she entered, she heard Fluffy's loud snores but thought it best not to wake him. He was still a beast and could turn against her at any time, so she left the very large chicken pieces in front of him for when he woke.

Before she left, however, she tenderly touched his left front paw before continuing on her way to the Gryffindor common room.

Once there, she approached her trunk, (which had been sent up from her own dormitory) removed her nightdress and white dressing gown adorned with lace and ribbons, before leaving into the girl's bathroom upstairs to get changed.

They spent a while talking about everything they could think of and then, before they went to sleep, Ron rolled over to Fern and apologised for his behaviour towards Adrian earlier in the day.

"I wouldn't worry," she smiled, sleepily. "I don't think Adrian will hold a grudge," and she rolled over and fell into a somewhat peaceful slumber dreaming of her newfound friends and how Fluffy would react to kept promises.


	18. I Show Not Your Face

**A/N: Ashletta Everdeen, can you please explain what you been by that? I don't intend to insult you, but I'm not sure if that comment means you love it or you hate it. Which one is it? Do you love Fern or hate her?**

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><p><strong>CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: "I<strong>** SHOW NOT YOUR FACE..."**

At least it was a peaceful slumber, until she shot up from her place on the floor, sweating, and trying not to make too much noise that would wake the boys up and get them worrying.

Taking a few calm breaths, she shakily got to her feet and went over to her trunk.

Something just wasn't right at Hogwarts, she felt, and she had to find some way of preventing anybody from getting hurt.

First, though, she had to clear her head. Perhaps if she got some fresh air, she'd find it easier to get back to sleep.

Although it was way past curfew, she had no option. She didn't want to risk the boys getting ill because she was selfish enough to open the window, so, even though it was against the rules, and, most times she was a stickler for them, she wrapped her dressing gown around her and, having found her invisibility cloak at the back of her trunk, cautiously threw it over her head. She did hope, of course, that she wouldn't need to use it again, but she was beginning to feel quite ill.

Whenever she'd felt queasy in the past, she'd always taken a walk (if there was any chance that the Dursleys would have let her) which usually encouraged her to relax and her nausea would fade away.

Silently, she placed her feet in her fluffy cornflower blue slippers and tiptoed out of the door, trying to make as little noise as possible.

After about ten minutes, she was starting to feel much better, though she still had a lot on her mind. It wasn't until she heard a menacing voice that she realised what was going on.

Ducking behind a statue, to try and avoid getting caught, (and crouching down trying to hide her hair, which had slipped out from under the cloak) she held her hand over her mouth.

"S-S-Severus, I-I... I-I-I-..."

It was Professor Quirrell. He was the victim of the threats?

"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell," Fern heard the Potions Professor say, his voice emitting a malevolent tone, as he pinned his colleague against the wall. "Don't think I don't know what you've been up to, sneaking around the castle, waiting for her to fall into your trap."

From the sounds of it, he was getting more irate by the second.

"Well, I am warning you, Quirrell, if you lay a finger on Fernanda Potter, I swear I will kill you myself... and don't think I can't do it, either."

With that, the Slytherin Head released the other teacher and left the way Fernanda had arrived, and Professor Quirrell exited in the opposite direction.

Once sure that they were both gone, she entered through the large oak door that she hadn't realised was right behind her. Then again, if she had before, she'd have blown her cover completely.

Well, that was perfect. Something else to worry about now. Why, when he had shown so little respect for her, did Professor Snape protect her; from the most timid teacher at Hogwarts of all people?

Was there more to the man than met the eye? Was his behaviour all just a front and he was really as harmless as a kitten? Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration, but, to Fern at least, he'd never seemed all that dangerous anyway.

The room behind the door was rather large and completely empty, save for a mirror at one end, encased in a gold frame.

Fern partially removed the cloak from her body and approached the mirror, the remainder of it falling off her shoulders and onto the floor.

Inquisitively, Fern approached the mirror, stopping about ten feet away. That was when she noticed the engraving on the mirror's crown, which looked to be in Latin, though something told her all was not as it seemed.

She read it from left to right a few times, trying to make some sense of it, and then decided to try the other way. The spacing was strange, but eventually she sussed out the message:

_I show not your face but your heart's desire_.

Perplexed slightly by the meaning, she took two tentative steps closer to the mirror and two figures began to appear. At first it seemed as though they were the ghosts, before some colour arrived, along with a handsome man with glasses and a beautiful young lady with dark red wavy hair and green eyes...

"Are you my Mama?" Fern asked, tears meeting her eyes.

The figure smiled and nodded, before tenderly running her fingers through her daughter's hair, at least it felt as though she was. Only when Fern whipped around, just to find that they merely existed in the mirror alone, did she realise what the mirror did.

Every night of her life, Fern dreamt of her parents, praying for a time when she'd see them again. Now she was, but she knew it was simply a figment of her imagination, an illusion... her heart's desire.

"You can't talk to me, can you?" Fern's heart sank. She knew it was impossible. They'd been dead ten years and now, when she had finally had some hope, her dreams were dashed. She didn't remember either of her parents' voices, being very young at the time of their deaths.

The image of James Potter sadly shook his head, and Fern moved away from the mirror, not wanting to see them anymore; it hurt too much.

She slowly backed away, watching the mirage gradually fade into nothingness, and moved to the other side of the room, miserably dragging her feet, before her knees buckled from under her and she fell into the corner, her head leaning against the wall, and found herself in tears; not exactly a situation she wanted to be in.

She didn't even seem to care if anybody discovered her. She was too depressed to care.

She even attempted to try and think of anything else to cheer her up: the fact that she had Simon who loved her, or friends like Yvonne, but nothing seemed to work.

For about twenty minutes she just sat there weeping. She hadn't noticed the door click, or the scuffling of boots on the stone floor.

"Thought I'd find you here, Miss Potter." It was Professor Dumbledore. She was certainly in trouble now and if she was completely honest, she'd much prefer Professor Snape.

Fern managed to scramble to her feet and profusely apologised.

"I'm so sorry, Professor Dumbledore- I promise it won't happen again- I wasn't feeling very well- I had to clear my head-"

"No worries, dear girl. I understand," the aging wizard replied, holding out his hand to calm the girl's babbling. "But I'm afraid, if you wanted to clear your head, you came to the wrong place." He spoke solemn.

"I realise that now, Professor. Believe me, if I knew what this room contained, I'd never have come near it in the first place."

"I don't believe you intended to come across such an object at all, an object that can cause so much misery to the individual who comes into contact with it."

"I know. When I figured out what the engraving said, I should have just left. But..." She broke away, unable to contain her sorrow, though she tried to muffle her sobs by chewing on her thumb nail.

"... You had to see for yourself," he finished for her. "I can't blame you, Fernanda. I myself have seen my heart's desire. That was another story that didn't end the way I had hoped."

He had attempted to lie, originally, about seeing a pair of socks, instead of books as Christmas presents, but he couldn't fib to the most honest person he knew.

"My family was destroyed, Fernanda. And there isn't a day that goes by when I don't think of..." he paused. "... Ariana."

"Who is Ariana?" the girl asked out of genuine curiosity.

"My younger sister," he smiled, fondly. "She was a lot like you when she was young; sweet, kind, but then that was before the incident and it all changed; all for the worst."

Dumbledore was now getting choked up talking so openly about his history. Sensing his discomfort, Fern gently wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned her head against his chest in solace.

"You don't need to tell me, Professor. I understand," she spoke soft.

If it were any other twelve-year-old saying that, it would be a lie, but, to a degree, Fernanda Potter _did_ understand what it meant to lose a relative, even though she hadn't known her parents for nearly as long as her Headmaster had known his sister.


	19. The Musings of a Potions Master

**THE MUSINGS OF A POTIONS MASTER**

When Fern woke three hours later (having been escorted back to her current residence by her Headmaster) she couldn't believe it.

How could she possibly have forgotten? It was Christmas. However, then she felt a large wave of guilt and remorse sweep over her.

She hadn't bought any of her friends anything for Christmas and then, unable to return to sleep, bearing in mind it was four o'clock in the morning, stood leaning against the wall looking out of the window, though at nothing in particular.

Every once in a while, she would start playing with her fingers and picking at her nails, but that was the remorse.

At half past five, she decided to make a move and went to get dressed, having been completely restless for the last ninety minutes.

Not in the right frame of mind, however, she made several mistakes she'd never made before, including putting her shoes on the wrong feet and her stockings on her arms. When she looked down a quarter of an hour later, though, all she could think was 'How did this happen?'

At seven, she made her way to the Great Hall for breakfast, having corrected her major mistakes, but having forgotten to do her hair. When her breakfast arrived, however, she'd greatly lost her appetite and began twiddling her bacon on her fork with one hand and her head resting on her right, which she was leaning on, even though it was bad manners to have elbows on the table.

After a while she pushed it away and both elbows wound up on the table.

It just didn't seem bad enough for the events of the previous night that she had to remember it was Christmas morning and she had selfishly disregarded her friends, in favour of meeting her own selfish needs.

She must have sat there for another hour, at least, as the Weasley boys then came down for their breakfast. Fern's remained untouched on the opposite side of the table.

"Merry Christmas, Fern!" the twins exclaimed, jovially, though Fern didn't think there was much to celebrate. She didn't answer.

"Ooh, er," Fred said. "Wonder what's got her in a bad mood?"

"I'll bet you five galleons it's Percy's doing," George replied.

"Don't waste your money on me," her quiet voice sounded. "I'm not worth it." Her voice was laced with sorrow, they noted, and could have sworn they heard a sniffle.

"Eh, eh, eh, what's wrong?" Fred asked, sitting by her side; gently pushing her hair out of her face.

George took her other side.

"Nothing."

"It's hardly nothing if you're crying. Come on, you can tell Uncle Freddie," he joked, but Fern didn't find it very funny.

"I didn't buy anything for anyone. Can I possibly be anymore selfish?" and she broke off in tears.

"It wasn't your fault," Ron put forward. "You've been out of it for most of the year. You didn't have time to think about it."

"Like we care anyway," George commented. "It's enough for us that you like us." He paused. "I doubt we could bear it if you hated us," he said, as his brother joined him in trying to cheer her up with fake sorrow.

Suffice it to say, it didn't work very well, because there was little more reaction than a choked sob and Fred wrapped his arm around her and held her close to him, placing a loving brotherly kiss on her forehead; but even that begged the question 'How many boys would ever kiss their sister?'

Even though she wasn't their sister, it does make one think.

"I'm more interested in who let that bloody troll in to begin with," Ron thought aloud.

"Well, Fern was the one to get hurt, so it's obviously someone who hates her," George put forth.

"I solemnly swear, Forge Gabian Weasley, you are off your rocker. How could anyone ever hate Fern?" his twin responded.

"And I am telling you, Gred Fideon Weasley, that someone is out to get her."

"Well, let's draw up a list then," George replied, digging in his pocket for some spare parchment and a quill. "Number one. Percy Ignatius Weasley."

"What?" said male spat in annoyance.

"Hates her guts... always will..." he wrote, speaking every word. Number two..."

"Snape," Ron snarled. "He's always finding something to moan about. So she's got long hair, it's not like she can do anything about it, is it? And she can't cut it, it just grows back twice as long as it was before."

No one had noticed the wizard in question entering the scene.

"And I can't think of anyone else who'd willingly put her in danger than that overgrown bat of the dungeons. I don't know what his problem is but he's really got it in for her," he seethed, before slamming his clenched fist on the table to vent some frustration, though that just resulted in an "Argh!" from his vocal cavity.

"There's no need to be so cruel about him," the girl's timid voice sounded, her head still in her hands, the odd sniffle emitting from her sinuses. "I don't think he'd ever do anything like that and I know you're wrong about Percy. He's completely harmless. They both are."

Still, the Professor's presence went unnoticed, the older twin focused on his young female friend, the doppelganger on his list, the eldest of the four looking incredibly displeased at the girl's defence and the youngest physically hurting himself out of sheer aggravation.

Time to make his presence known then.

"I sincerely hope you were not referring to me, Mr. Weasley," he glared at Ron, who whipped round at the voice and immediately turned red. "All of you would do well to stay out of trouble, even if you get a few weeks free of schoolwork. And don't think for a moment, I haven't included you in that, Potter," he added, advancing on her and Fred jumped out of the way. "Just because you destroyed a wizard when you were two and it was all over the Daily Prophet, does not allow you to believe you can get away with murder. Not that I'd put it past you," he sneered, before making his way to the teacher's table.

In all honesty, the three younger gingers did well to hold their tongues, though silently they were all thinking the same thing. '_Bastard_.' Oh, if their mother had been had occlumens and had been present...

The next they heard was the footsteps of the girl fading as she got further down the aisle and exited out of the Great Hall, a mass of long brown tangles flowing behind her in her wake.

"Fern!" Ron called, recovering from his previous shame to consider the feelings of his friend.

"Oh, well, it's not like she didn't deserve it. She's had it coming to her, I must say," Percy commented.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Fred defended. George folded his arms in threat, the scowl matching that of his twin, though the youngest looked completely lost at his friend leaving.

"Professor Snape was right. She's always so high-and-mighty. You'd think she had her head permanently lodged up her own backside, she's so stuck-up."

"I hope that's not Fern you're talking about," Ron spat, turning to face his brother. "She's been nothing but completely nice to you and you still treat her like dragon dung."

Perhaps the teacher had heard that, for he turned around slightly to listen to the boys' conversation. True, Snape had been limping and it had slowed him down slightly, but not so much that he could hear everything that was going on not twelve yards away. From the glint in the Headmaster's eyes, it was clear he thought otherwise.

"She does deserve everything she gets," Percy said, with a smug look on his face. "So she supposedly defeats a dark wizard at two years old. No toddler's that clever, for Merlin's sake. And then she grows up thinking she's everything and that she can defeat a troll and then ends up in the hospital with concussion. It's all just a trick, you know. Try and get friends by showing off. Well, it doesn't work." The three boys then tuned out their brother's rantings and focused their attention on the thoughtful potions professor.

He did appear to be in a world of his own for the moment, something very unusual for the austere member of Hogwarts staff that tolerated no woolgathering from anybody else. And now, here he was doing the exact same thing.

Perhaps it was something the older boy said that his mind regressed ten years into the past.

_Twenty-one, he was. Twelve years he'd loved her, five since he lost her. And all because of one mistake, which, while not entirely his fault, he blamed himself for._

_He had gone to the Dark Lord for one purpose and one alone; to save his beloved. Yes, he loved Lily with all his heart and doubted he would ever love anybody else. He would never meet anyone else with eyes like hers or hair like or hers or a heart like hers. She was just so perfect, he thought it an insult to her to love anyone else._

_He had knelt before the murderous monster, pleading for Lily's life. "I'll do anything," he had said, "anything, if you'll only spare Lily."_

_Then he remembered meeting up with Dumbledore not long after._

"_You'd selfishly let James and little Baby die?" had been his response. Baby wasn't an adjective, but more a term of endearment. Everyone who knew and loved Fernanda Potter, called her Baby. "Just so you can have Lily to yourself? Clearly, you've never seen 'Gone With the Wind'." He commented._

"_No, I have not, and I've neither the time, nor the desire, to watch muggle films." The younger man had been seriously annoyed at this._

"_Then you can never understand the words of Belle Watling," the crazy old coot and replied, shaking his head in disbelief. When there was no sign of knowing, he continued. "'The child is worth ten of the mother.' You'd do well to remember that, Severus."_

_But had he listened?_

_On Hallowe'en of 1981, Voldemort struck._

_Severus had known of the Prophecy, that a little girl would be his downfall... but then so had Voldemort._

_He just had to get her out of the way and he'd do it by any means possible._

_He had promised Severus that he would spare Lily, but, naïve as Severus was at the time, had neglected the fact that the Dark Lord Voldemort was ruthless and would do anything to get his way. Breaking promises was his favourite way of doing so._

_He had arrived at Godric's Hollow early the following morning. Twenty-three-minutes-to-two to be precise._

_The house had been a complete shambles. Technically, there was only half of it still standing._

_As he walked through the front door, which was hanging from its hinges, his eyes met the sight of James Potter. He was dead. He was glad of that, at least. The years of misery Severus had endured at his hand and he would no longer be tormented by the man._

_However, he then made his way up the stairs, careful where he was treading, for half of them were now dust. He saw a shadow on the landing, Lily's shadow._

_He followed the dim light into the light pink and white nursery, his eyes immediately falling on his favourite redhead. Without hesitation, he knelt beside her and held her limp body in his own and heartbreak hit, as he fell into a fit of hysterical sobs, crying for the only person he'd ever loved who was now dead, because of him._

_A few minutes later, he heard a whimper followed by the cries of a certain little 'Baby' Dumbledore had told him about; the little girl with the big brown curls down her small back, a little pink ribbon in her hair, looking up with shining green eyes, a dummy in her mouth and clutching her favourite stuffed unicorn, now grey with dust. Her little white lacy nightdress was torn and covered with a mixture of dust and blood. It seemed the only thing she cared about, however, was her Mummy._

"_Ge' up, Mama!" she wailed, crying into her stuffed toy._

_One look at her eyes and he softened before he remembered, no __knew__, she was still James Potter's child and turned back to Lily._

_Not long after that, he had left, the thought never crossing his mind that one day he may live to regret his actions._

It seemed, though, that now that day had come and he nearly collapsed, when he finally got rid of that memory that had haunted his every waking moment since the event occurred. He had to steady himself on the table behind him, before even contemplating the teacher's table.

The look the Headmaster gave him, wasn't exactly helping either. Clearly, he had been thinking much the same thing.

He had heard the faint, or rather loud, reprimand from Fred, George and Ron, fed up of Percy's prattling. "Shut up!" they said in unison.

He managed to tune them out, though; ignore them, just to realise...

Baby.


	20. The Best Present of All

**A/N: Sorry for the late update but I've had music exams to practice for, plus a very bad case of writer's block. I had to keep re-writing this chapter halfway through – it's been driving me mad for the past month. Hope you all enjoy, though. Xx**

* * *

><p><strong>THE BEST PRESENT OF ALL<strong>

She knew exactly where she was heading. Heading to the one living creature she hadn't disappointed. She was just lucky Filch wasn't lurking around the corner, though it would have been far worse if it had been Mrs. Norris anyway.

Tentatively, she stepped through the door, careful not to startle him and gently closed the door with a light click.

The dog growled with menace, though once he discovered who it was, he receded.

"Hello, honey," Fern smiled through her tears. "Merry Christmas."

She reached her hand out to the unconventional canine and he licked it with his middle tongue. This cheered her up, slightly.

Then, he put his left front paw forward, as if inviting her in for a cuddle. Fern accepted and leaned into him, forever stroking his fur. He liked that; then again, Fern had always found that big dogs were the ones that liked the cuddles. She had been at the park once and an excitable Great Dane had decided he wanted to play with her. He started off with affection, though and nearly crushed her with his weight. At the time, though, Fern didn't mind; at least she felt wanted.

"Can I ask you a question?" she asked the beast, pulling away slightly, though never ceasing her comforting strokes. "Why are you here in the castle?" Pausing, she thought for a moment. "More to the point, why are you trapped in this room all on your own? They've been cruel to you by doing this."

Then realisation hit, as she recalled the first time she came and noticed the trapdoor. She had wondered why it was there, why the dog was there.

"Are you protecting something?" she asked. The dog gave her an inquisitive look.

But then, if he was, what was he protecting? What could possibly be so precious that they needed a hellhound to guard it?

Was there something in the back of her brain telling her what it was? She sat down, his paw playfully nudging her every now and again, thinking.

About twenty minutes later, having tried everything she could possibly think of, she decided to try going through the past a bit, month by month. For the whole of November and half of December, she had been out of it, though there was that appearance with the cloaked figure, plus Professor Snape had threatened Quirrell, though he had also defended her.

She had nearly been battered to death by a troll, were it not for the fact that Ron had come to the rescue to save Hermione and herself.

Other than that, nothing of great importance had really occurred.

... Although there was that article in the _Daily Prophet_ that was quite suspicious. Someone had allegedly attempted to break in and steal something in particular; one thing was for sure, it definitely wasn't money.

Just what it was exactly, Fern didn't know, though it didn't take a genius to come to the conclusion that it was most likely very valuable and possibly quite dangerous in the wrong hands.

"Are you guarding it, sweetheart?" she asked the hound.

At this the dog seemed to shrink back, as if with shame.

"It's okay. I'm sure they know what they're doing keeping you here, in spite of how cruel it is and I can think of no one better for the job," she smiled.

The canine seemed to enjoy the praise and started panting excitedly and wagging his tail. He even went so far as to plant a big sloppy doggy kiss on her face.

So there Fern stood with dog slobber all down her face and all over her clothes. If she cared, however, she never said anything.

"I'll be back soon, I promise, but I have to go and think of some way to apologise to my friends for not getting them presents. T.T.F.N." she smiled, as she kissed his paw and gently stepped out of the door, on the lookout for Filch.

The question now was 'Where do I go?'

Where would she go? What could she do to make it up to her friends?

"I could always make them some cakes to share with their families; but, then, where would I go to bake them?"

As she began making her way up toward Gryffindor Tower, she noticed a door on the opposite side of the staircase. She'd never been through there for any classes and so decided to take a trip out of genuine curiosity.

As she meandered down the corridor, she took note of all she'd seen, even if it was so little.

There were a few stone pedestals and statues scattered around the place, before she arrived at the Divination Tower (not a place she would enter, until next year, at least.) Portraits hung lazily on the walls, though lazy as in that they were all lounging around, either asleep, talking to themselves, or stuffing their faces with dinner.

The last thought encouraged Fern's recollection of a story she'd heard at school about a Swedish King who technically ate himself to death, having enjoyed twenty-six hearty servings of his favourite meal and never woke up the following morning.

Snapping out of her reverie, she continued on her way, with her hope of finding a place to make something out of nothing for her friends.

Stopping in the middle of the corridor, she began pacing a few times before she heard a low murmur... it sounded like grinding stone. Looking to her right, her eyes met the sight of a door that hadn't been there before.

Fern had never been the adventurous type, what with living with the Dursleys for so long, but decided to examine the new addition.

In all honesty, she didn't know what to expect when she entered. It could have been a room chock-a-block with items that simply didn't have a specific place within the walls of Hogwarts or a pokey little broom cupboard, or even a room of large proportions with nothing whatsoever in it.

Instead, however, she found what looked like a kitchen. It wasn't very big, true, but it was quite cosy and compact with pans hanging from a metal rack, spices on shelves, cabinets with, most likely, all manner of goodies and four ovens.

Quietly, she closed the door behind her and went to look in the cupboard. Strange that what met her eyes were all the things she needed to make confectionary. Coincidence or what?

"Yes," she told herself. "I'll make them cakes... and biscuits; everybody loves biscuits... chocolate chip and peanut butter. Jam sponge, coconut cream pie..." Fern could make absolutely everything she wanted in this place. "Oh, stuff it, I'll make it all," and, rolling her sleeves up, made a start.

It was still only early, which she was thankful for. It meant that she had a good five hours before Hogwarts would have Christmas dinner.

By two o'clock, the cakes were out of the oven and the biscuits were in.

Fern rummaged through the cupboards a bit before finding what she wanted. Icing. Fern had always loved icing, even though it was rare she'd been allowed cakes at the Dursleys. Whenever she went round to Mrs. Figg's house, however, the woman would often make her a cake with a load of icing, fondant or otherwise.

She started with a butter cream icing for the cupcakes, of which there were twenty trays of twenty cakes. She tried to make them as pretty as possible, including adding hundreds and thousands and little crunchy silver balls sprinkled on the top.

She then stuck her Victoria sponges together with strawberry jam and coated them with vanilla butter cream, before rolling on some white fondant and piping on, as neat as she could, "Merry Christmas." She then designed some little Christmas trees and bells and baubles in different coloured icing to decorate further with the same butter cream.

She wasn't completely successful, however, as her biscuit base for her cheesecakes fell apart as she removed them from the pan. She managed to salvage some of them, however, with a smidgen of butter to stick them back together, knowing she was on borrowed time, before slicing some oranges and kiwis to decorate. There were fifteen cheesecakes in all; the same went for the sponges.

She also spent some time sugaring the double chocolate brownies, which were all stuck together. She had to get a pizza cutter to separate them.

Unfortunately, when she came to get the biscuits out of the oven, a number of them were burnt to a crisp. "I'll have those," she decided, as she separated the good from the bad, glad that she made more than she needed in case of a disaster.

She was slightly hungry, so decided to treat herself to one of them. Hot as they were however, and smoking since being burnt, she had to turn away from everything as a 'death-cough' overcame her.

"Try not to do that again, you silly girl," she reprimanded herself. No, she'd wait for them to cool and put a bit of icing on them; they'd be all right then.

Meanwhile, she turned her attention back to the decent ones and split the different flavours from one another.

On the other side of the room, sat some pale pink boxes, which she went to collect. After making them up, she counted out an even number of every type of biscuit, plain, chocolate, chocolate chip, peanut butter and soft toffee; trying to cater for all.

Once all was counted out, never giving one individual more than another, she closed the box up and tied a blue ribbon around it.

The iced cupcakes and brownies went in a separate box, a green one, as Fern, once again, sorted them out evenly between her loved ones. Red ribbons adorned these ones.

The much larger cheesecakes and sponges went in blue boxes with white ribbons before everything went inside what appeared to be giant shoebox, ever so gently, so they wouldn't get broken or crushed.

The final touch was holographic wrapping paper in Christmassy colours with yet more ribbons and bows, and personalised messages to each individual receiver. They were usually along the lines of, '_I'm sorry I never got you anything else. Please forgive me_.'

Once all was done and cleaned up, the only thing Fern asked herself was, "Now how do I get all of these to the Owlery?"

Technically, they weren't all going to the Owlery, but it would still be a job and a half getting them to their desired recipients. It wasn't as if she had a bag big enough to put them in either.

No, she'd have to take them in small groups. Of course, her friends at Hogwarts would surely help her, wouldn't they?

She first took the packages for the Weasley boys, all wrapped up in red and gold. She was lucky she could carry all four packages, though she very nearly dropped them on her way down the corridor.

As Fern entered the Common Room, she noticed there was only one brother in there. Percy.

"Oh, hello," she smiled, nervously. "I-I-I've brought you something for Christmas," she continued, as she put down the four boxes and searched for his, before holding it out to him to take.

He didn't.

"I neither need nor want your charity, Potter," he spat.

"It isn't charity, Percy," she replied, slightly taken aback by his cold response. "Please take it. It would mean the world to me if you did."

He just gave her a dirty look.

"Will you please, at least, consider it a peace offering?"

"Are you deaf? I don't want anything off you. Go and find someone else to annoy!" he returned to his book, angrily turning the page.

"Okay, then." She paused. "Erm... do you know where I could find your brothers?"

"No, I don't and I don't care. Get out!"

And get out she did, faster than he had even said the penultimate word of his sentence, leaving the packages there for his brothers and even himself, in case he wanted it later.

She then tried Yvonne and Adrian; Yvonne's in blue paper with bronze ribbon and Adrian's in green paper and silver ribbon.

"But I didn't get you anything, Fern," Yvonne replied, returning the box to her friend.

"I never expected you to. It's the giving that counts, not the receiving. Please take it."

Reluctantly, the Ravenclaw took it, still feeling guilty. Adrian wasn't much better guilt-wise.

"You've nothing to be sorry for, either of you. We've only just met, I know, but I had to do something for you. You've both been so nice to me." After a shaky pause, she continued. "Please take them. I made them especially for you."

Fern then left to return to the strange room to obtain some more of the gifts.

Her next stop was Hagrid's Hut, where he was playing his wooden flute by the fire, as Fang the boarhound, lay on the rug.

She knocked on the door and waited in the cold, for she had forgotten to cover herself up. She was just in a dress and her underpinnings, though, heavy as they were, it was still very cold. She could feel her toes going dead and they were under three pairs of stockings and fluffy winter boots.

He soon opened the door, though only slightly. "Back, Fang, back," he announced, as though he were the most dangerous dog in Britain. Fern knew, however, that Fang was as harmless as the Cerberus. That was something else; she really needed to find out his name.

"I wouldn't worry, Hagrid," Fern said. "I think he just wants to say hello."

At this Hagrid paused and opened the door wider. Fern then had a very large dog on top of her, though he was just playfully licking her and wagging his tail.

"Come on, Fang, tha's enough now," Hagrid told the dog and he returned to the hut. "Come in Fern," he invited and, picking up the parcel she had dropped, she entered, as Hagrid closed the door behind her.

"I just came to give you this Hagrid. Merry Christmas," and she held out the parcel for him. "I've also got something for Fang," and she delved into the pocket of her apron to pull out a bag of dog biscuits that had been back in the magic kitchen when she returned for Hagrid's present.

Opening the bag, she knelt down to Fang who had resumed his position on the rug and gave him a biscuit. He soon began repositioning it so he could have a good crunch and Fern kissed his ear before returning to her standing position.

"I wasn't quite sure what you like, Hagrid, so I tried to make a bit of everything," she informed him, as he began opening the gift.

"Yer made these?" he asked, surprised.

"... Yes..." she added, after pondering on the matter. She decided to leave the bit out about the mysterious kitchen that appeared out of nowhere. "It's mainly a thank you for my flute last year and I didn't know what else to do for you."

"Yer didn' 'ave to do anythin' fer me."

"I wanted to. I feel I owe you, Hagrid. I know I owe you." She broke off then and looked anywhere but at him.

"Oh, come 'ere, yer big softie," and he pulled her into a monster cuddle, though he was very gentle.

One thing was for sure, once in that hug Fern didn't want to get out of it. He was so warm. She had to get out eventually, however.

"D'yer want a cup o' tea?" he asked.

"If you don't mind," she replied.

"Which reminds me. I got somethin' 'ere fer yer'," and he pulled a small package off a shelf, tied in brown paper and string. "Merry Christmas, Fern."

Fern's hand reached out to take it and she slowly removed the string and paper. Inside was a little blue velvet box. As she opened it, her eyes met the sight of a beautiful oval locket in white gold, decorated with vines and flowers where, in the middle, her name was engraved.

"It must have cost you a fortune, Hagrid. I can't accept this, as sweet as you are for giving to me in the first place. You must be penniless." She closed the case shut and handed back out to him. "Please, take it back. Get a refund. Put the money towards something more rewarding for yourself, please."

Brilliant. So she was crying again, for what felt like the tenth time in two days.

"I got it fer yer, Fernanda. I don' want no one else to 'ave it. Yer deserve it."

"And what have I done to deserve such an act of kindness? Nothing. I have done absolutely nothing and got rewarded for it. I'm really sorry, Hagrid, but I can't accept it," and she fled, leaving the half-giant both surprised and hurt; surprised that she ran and hurt that she refused it. He had honestly bought it for her, out of the money he had earned and saved over the last year.

* * *

><p>Before she knew where she was, she was in the library.<p>

Exactly why she'd entered here, she didn't know. Perhaps it was for the peace and quiet it offered.

Wiping her eyes, she came into contact with a friend who was searching through the bookshelves, rather erratically, she noted.

"What are you doing?" she asked, totally confused as to her friend's behaviour.

"Looking for something," the redhead replied.

Strange that it was Ron. The only redhead Fern knew who was likely to be roaming the library was Percy.

"Is it urgent, because you look rather flustered?" she asked, with complete innocence.

"In a way, it is. Hermione suggested it." He picked a big book up off the shelf and threw it on the table, before rapidly flipping through it.

"What are you looking for?" Fern asked.

"Have you heard of Nicolas Flamel?" Ron turned to look her in the eye.

That was another bothersome little thing to addle her brain. First pondering what was underneath the trapdoor and why the dog was there to begin with and now mention of a name that she knew she'd heard of somewhere, though she didn't have a clue where.

"Maybe," she replied. "But, then, I probably dreamt I read it somewhere. Do you know what he did?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out."

For what must have been about half an hour, the duo searched through book after book but to no avail and they knew better than the venture into the Restricted Section. Madam Pince was easily agitated enough when students entered the library at all.

"Ron?" Fern asked, changing the topic from familiar, yet unfamiliar, wizards to Christmas. "I left you and your brothers some things in the Common Room. They're only little things but I hope you like them. To tell the truth, I was on borrowed time and I haven't even had the chance to send the other presents yet."

"Well, I'll help you if you like," he offered, closing the book and placing it back on the shelf.

And help her he did. They went back several times to collect the parcels to take them to the Owlery, but they were all sent off by four o'clock, which was just as well because Christmas dinner was being served in the Great Hall.

Upon entering, they discovered that it was rather empty, save for one long table in the middle of the hall, at which were seated all the teachers. There were spaces in between for students. That must have been Dumbledore's idea; try and break the generation gap, maybe?

An onlooker would say that Fern drew the short straw. No student at Hogwarts, save for a Slytherin who believed in little more than self-importance, would ever willingly sit next to Professor Snape. One thing's for sure, it wouldn't be Adrian; he was too decent to be egotistical. Any student who had to would have to ensure they were sat beside a teacher with polite conversation.

There were also very few students who cared for Professor Quirrell. There was something awfully strange about a man who was so frightened of everything, yet who taught perhaps the most dangerous class at Hogwarts (especially with the misfortune of dark wizards in Hogwarts' midst.)

So, Fern had to sit in between the two least-desirable professors.

Hungry as she had been when she entered the Great Hall, she soon lost her appetite as a searing pain shot through her abdomen and she had to fight not to scream. She even had to bite her lip to prevent herself from demonstrating weakness, though, she wound up bleeding from biting too hard.

She had to leave the Great Hall, struggling to conceal her agony and nearly screaming out loud.

Strange then that by the time she arrived in Gryffindor Tower, the pain had dissipated considerably and Fern had no understanding of why.

She tried not think too much about it and, instead, took out her music stand, flute and books and began to play to clear her mind.

A little while later the boys arrived in the Great Hall; Fred and George informing her of their presence from the loud voices. Ron followed and, concerned, he approached Fern. Percy, meanwhile, sneered in her direction and, turning his nose up, left for the fifth-year boys' dormitory; clearly wanting nothing whatsoever to do with the Hufflepuff.

"What is his problem?" Ron asked. "What have you ever done to him?"

She lowered her flute, though keeping her fingers in the same position to return. "I wouldn't worry too much, Ron; perhaps it's just his way," her voice of reason responded.

"No, he's just mad because she can tell someone who's halfway decent a mile off," Fred put his suggestion forward.

"Yeah," George added. "On the train last year he basically said there's no decent witches or wizards in Slytherin."

"I know there is," Fern said, dreamily. "You know, Dora's Mum was a Slytherin and she married a Hufflepuff and they're really happy."

The look on Ron's face made the twins burst out laughing. He looked at the young Duchess in sheer bafflement. What on Earth made her think like that?

"Stereotypes can be very cruel," she added. "I mean they say gingers, no offence intended, are a bunch of losers. I say gingers are the best friends I've ever had," she smiled, turning to face them.

This stunned the trio to silence, before Fern spoke again. "What are you staring at? Has the label dropped off?" she joked, her voice light and playful.

They soon shook themselves out of it and Fern returned to her flute-playing, while they spoke amongst themselves.

At about eight o'clock, they decided to get ready for bed and the four of them spoke a while before Fern remembered.

"Did you open your presents?" she blurted out, having almost forgotten. She then attempted to pick herself up off the floor, though she got entangled in her own hair. After various futile attempts at unravelling herself, she gave up and traversed on her knees, as the twins began singing.

_Heigh-ho, heigh-ho,_

_It's out of bed we go..._

Once she reached the three boxes, she handed them individually to the three brothers. Percy's remained by the tree.

"Whose is that?" Ron asked.

"Percy's. He wouldn't accept it, but I've left it there if he decides he wants it."

As the boys began untying the ribbons, she spoke again. "There only little things. I just hope you like them."

As the lids were raised from the boxes, three freckled faces looked at the twelve-year-old brunette. "Did you make these?" George asked.

Fern paused, slightly embarrassed. "Yes," she whispered. "I didn't know what else to do."

Ron certainly didn't waste any time in getting started. He tried a chocolate chip cookie and was pleasantly surprised. "Fab, Fern," he mumbled through a mouthful of crumbs. She had to smile at this, as the doppelgangers tried them, too.

They seemed to enjoy their evening overall, before remembering what they had got Fern. The three of them went to the tree and picked up their individual presents to her, as well as from their parents and Charlie. Even Bill, whom she hadn't yet met, had sent her something.

The first one she opened was from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Inside was a box of home-made fudge, some cauldron cakes and pumpkin pasties, along with a peppermint-coloured scarf and gloves. Mr. Weasley, she gathered, was the one who sent her the Remembrall, similar to the one Neville had received off his grandmother. Fern was probably luckier than her companion, however, for he was very forgetful.

Ginny, it turned out, had sent her a little home-made friendship bracelet from small pieces of silver she had shaped to try and form it into a pretty piece, which Fern thought was one of the most lovely things she could have done.

Charlie had sent her a small stuffed dragon and a book on dragon-care. She had to smile at this; she knew he was probably a bit too keen on dragons, though, dangerous as they were, they were beautiful creatures.

Bill, although never having met her, sent her a few music books. Of course, one of the packages she had prepared earlier was on its way to him.

Fern hadn't known what to expect from the twins, though she shouldn't have jumped and technically should have realised previously that it would be some sort of joke item. Two red paper snakes jumped out at her and caused her to fall back with fright, before realising what they were.

"Thought you liked snakes," George teased, laughing with his twin.

"I do, it just caught me a bit by surprise," she smiled.

Inside the package, however, were some hair accessories and earrings.

"You're supposed to be a lady, we'll treat you like one," Fred had said and she had kissed him on the cheek.

"Hey, what about me?" George commented, with mock-offence.

"You don't think I'd leave Georgie-Porgie out, do you?" and she kissed him as she had with Fred.

The youngest Weasley, however, was yet to come and was quite pink in the cheeks.

"It's just a little something. I don't really know what to get girls," he had said as he reluctantly held out the package.

She took it and tentatively unwrapped it.

Just as Dora had sent her one last year, Ron had sent her a bonnet. "It's beautiful, Ron," she smiled, as she felt the green velvet on the crown and the black silk ribbon. "I don't know where you got the money from to buy it, Ron, but it's lovely. Thank you" and she then kissed him on the cheek, but not before his complexion resembled that of a strawberry.

"Hey, no fair-"

"Why does he get a bigger kiss than we do?" The twins protested.

"There's two of you. I thought twins always shared." If Hogwarts had taught her one thing, it was that you could have fun. If anything, Hogwarts had brought her out of her shell a bit.

Fred then decided to punish her, as he picked up his pillow and hurled it at her head. The most it made her do was laugh.

She then moved onto the other presents from her friends.

At around half-past nine, Dumbledore entered the Common Room.

"Good evening, students. Miss Potter, would you come to my office, please?" he requested.

A look of horror spread across her face and she looked to her friends for some source of comfort.

"Don't worry, my dear; you're not in trouble."

Hesitantly, she put on her dressing gown and slippers and scooped her hair up so as not to trip up or get tangled again.

The way down to his office was a rather long one, though that could have been because of her slow speed in walking, several paces behind her Professor.

Realising his student wasn't directly behind him, he stopped. "Something the matter, Miss Potter?"

"No, sir," she said, possibly a bit too quickly. Just why she was worried she didn't know. Perhaps it was not hearing off Simon in so long.

Still, Dumbledore decided not to press matters further.

"Sherbet lemon," he announced as the gargoyle before his office jumped aside to allow their entry.

The Headmaster entered his office, seemingly oblivious to the current inhabitant, though he knew her desired individual was there.

He took his usual seat at his desk and beckoned for Fern to approach. "I received a fire-call this morning, Miss Potter, on a rather urgent matter. Don't look so worried, it's not bad news," he informed her as he told her (with his eyes, no doubt) to turn around from where she stood.

She could hardly believe her eyes as she came face-to-face with her favourite person in the world. "Simon!" she cried with delight and practically jumped into his arms. "I haven't seen you in so long. I was worried something had happened."

"It did, though at the time it was you incapacitated," he smiled, as he wiped away the tears off her cheeks.

She hadn't even realised her over-active tear ducts were operating yet again.

"I'm afraid I can't stay very long, Fern," he said. "I got this afternoon that I've got to back to India. That flying carpet salesman been arrested by aurors again. He said he wouldn't do it again, but at the time I knew I couldn't trust him as far as I could throw him."

This made her laugh a bit. "Have you enjoyed travelling?"

"To a certain extent, yes, but it isn't the same without you. I'll take you somewhere over the summer holidays; somewhere I think you'll like; which reminds me there's several things I want to give you, but first I have someone who wants to see you."

As he stepped aside, a hissing could be heard by the two wizards and Fern's eyes lit up as Nexus slithered up her ankle and around her waist in a gentle cuddle.

'_Can't get rid of me that easily, Lady. Knocked out by a troll, indeed!_'

'_I never intended to,_' she responded, though she knew the serpent was joking.

'_Hope no one's giving you too much trouble; they do, you tell me and I'll bite their bleedin' legs off._'

'_I don't think that will be necessary, Nexus. I'll handle it. Plus, I don't think the world's quite ready for pets with a gripe._'

Dumbledore was examining the body language of the girl and the snake, the latter of which appeared very protective of his mistress.

"How long have you been able to talk to snakes, Miss Potter?" he asked, ostensibly out of curiosity.

That required some thinking. "To be honest, Professor, I didn't know I was. I thought we were both speaking English."

"I'm afraid that isn't quite so, Miss Potter. We heard no syllable of the English language, just hissing."

"I'm going to hell," Fern decided, condemning herself to her fate before she was halfway there.

"No, you aren't," Simon reprimanded. "You have a gift and it isn't something to be sniffed at," he interrupted, trying to change the conversation; knowing Fern's luck, Dumbledore would only upset her.

"Speaking of gifts..." He exaggerated the mound of gifts with and elegant wave of his arm to a pile of colourful packages behind him.

Fern sighed. "Simon, why do you spoil me so? I don't need materialistic items to feel loved; I only need you."

"And I do love you but after what you've endured at the Dursleys, you deserve it."

"How do you know what happened?" she asked, enquiringly.

He exchanged glances with the Headmaster who had a somewhat guilty expression on his face.

Simon ended the conversation there. "Merry Christmas, Fern," he said to her, indicating the presents, yet again.

"Very well. I'll open them but they'll never be better than you," and she wrapped her arms around him.

He had to fight to choke back the tears threatening to fall. Of all the second cousins he could ever acquire, why did he have to get Fern?


	21. Jolly Old January

**JOLLY OLD JANUARY**

The last week of December brought with it the finalities of Christmas. The students who had remained at Hogwarts had spent their many waking hours in each other's company, including Fern and her friends.

There had been a major snowball fight in the Entrance Courtyard, courtesy of the twins, who decided to teach Percy a lesson in humour by shoving a snowball down the back of his jumper.

Needless to say the prefect was displeased and stalked off with his nose in the air and his arms folded.

"That was a bit cruel. You know what makes him tick; please don't make matters worse," Fern had told them.

"He needs to lighten up," Fred exclaimed. "He'll never get a girlfriend if he doesn't."

"I thought he already had one?" Yvonne questioned, looking up from tying her shoelaces. "Penelope Clearwater in my House?"

"Never told us," George said.

"I'm not surprised. You do get on his nerves," she continued. "Leave him alone; he won't go off in a strop."

"I mean no offence, but you are unkind the way you talk about him. It's not really his fault. Can you not just accept him as he comes?" Fern asked, with complete innocence.

There was something definitively wrong with a girl who refused to see anything but good in a person. Then again, Fernanda Potter had always been very naïve. Ron's 'How do you do that?' look made Fern question herself. To be fair to the youngest redhead, however, he did look at her with an expression of awe.

But as the week was drawing to a close, Ron was more often than not in the library, leaving Fern rather puzzled; he was hardly a bookworm by anyone's standards.

He'd even made an attempt at the Restricted Section when Madam Pince wasn't looking but she clocked him out the corner of her eye and threw him out.

"All I wanted was a book," he grumbled to Fern and the girl couldn't help but smile.

"Is this about Nicolas Flamel again? The one Hermione considered?"

"Yeah, but I've not found anything yet."

"I'm just glad that your friends now," she said. "I'd hate for you to dislike one another." Then she paused before remembering. "Oh, and Ron, thank you for saving my life."

Ron gaped disbelieving. "How did I save your life?"

"If it weren't for you, I'd probably have been killed by that troll; Hermione too. You did very well to defeat it and with very quick thinking. Had I been able to comprehend the situation, I doubt I could have thought of it."

Ron had to turn away at that point for flushing. "You mustn't feel embarrassed, Ron; you're a hero." That said, she left, eyes smiling and curls bouncing.

* * *

><p>The last few days of the Christmas holidays had also left Fern with time to do other things. She had been especially looking forward to studying foreign languages and also taking more music lessons with the French horn and the violin (two of Simon's presents to her. She hadn't been able to help but grin at his generosity, though she knew it was too much.<p>

Of course, in the Potter family at least, languages were somewhat of a ritual for diplomacy within the Wizarding community worldwide. She would also be instructed to learn of other cultures, which she was looking forward to.

The 1992 term began on the sixth of January. And the first few days were hectic with more and more homework being assigned.

Ron hadn't been very happy, though, especially since Professor Snape was handing out more homework than usual, which could have been his way of saying "You dunderheads will have to start pulling your finger out and working for your rewards." Hermione, on the other hand, had been ecstatic at the homework prospect.

Fern's potions lessons weren't much better either and he proceeded to nitpick at every tiny insignificant detail in any aspect of her written work or her potions.

Then, when he assigned pairs, Fern got lumbered with perhaps the one person who completely hated her: Marietta Edgecombe.

It wasn't enough that the Ravenclaw took over, claiming Fern to be careless with her work (following all the reprimands from the teacher) but there was nothing Fern could do about it, as her sparring partner denied her any chance to redeem herself after their teacher's comments.

Marietta had even told her to sit down and stay out of it, so Fern, being the ever-obedient child she was, followed the other girl's instructions.

When Professor Snape had been going around the classroom, however, he didn't hesitate in humiliating the young Hufflepuff in front of the class, yet again.

He even sent her out, calling her lazy, self-centred and arrogant, before docking fifty points from her House.

Even after being sent out, she never left the dungeons.

At her old muggle primary school, any child who wandered off after being sent out was punished, so she knew better than to test the relentless Potions Master, preferring instead to try and stay part-way in his good books (if that was at all possible.)

Then there were the recurring issues with Defence Against the Dark Arts and her permanent chest pains whenever she was in the class.

The Charms, Herbology and Transfiguration homework had also been flooding in thick and fast, Fern's more so than other people's, for she had to catch up, having been out of it in the Hospital Wing for seven weeks. Still, Neville was kind enough to help her out with Herbology at least.

If she was completely honest, she was glad for the Friday nights when she could relax in Astronomy without the worry of upsetting the teachers, being bent double for the pain in her ribcage and that she had a whole week to do her homework, instead of just two days.

Nothing notable really happened in January, apart from the usual back-to-school-plenty-of-homework-teachers-are-undyingly-agitated lark.

The snow was still all around the grounds, though some patches of grass and stone could be seen poking through where some of it had melted.

Unfortunately, Fern had been avoiding Hagrid at all costs. Was it guilt, maybe, or fear? Whatever it was she didn't really know herself, until the twenty-seventh when it would appear that Hagrid was down-right fed up of it.

"Yeh've been avoidin' me," he had told her.

Fern couldn't even look at him.

"I bought that locket fer you and you alone," he told her, firmly, and he handed the box out to her once more.

Reluctantly, she took it.

"I'm really sorry, Hagrid. I just feel as though you're wasting all your time and money on me when there are eight-hundred more people in this castle you can be worrying about instead," she had told him.

"Please," Hagrid whispered. "Take it.

Sighing, defeated, she took it. "Okay, Hagrid, but can you promise me one thing please?" He nodded his promise. "Don't do it again," she smiled. She meant no offence by it, though she was deadly serious. If he kept on doing it, he'd starve himself to death.

* * *

><p>She had returned to her flute lessons by the last day of January, by which time she'd also been introduced to her French horn and violin. Something did puzzle her about the French horn, though.<p>

She didn't know why it was deemed 'French' when it was invented by the Germans, but decided not to press on it.

Fern also found out when she started learning German (when she went home of a weekend via the Floo network, again with the Headmaster's permission) that there was in fact German blood a few generations down the line.

It turned out that her great-great-great-grandfather had fallen in love with a young German girl who had lost her voice under inexplicable circumstances. Coincidentally, something else surfaced during the story she'd been told, though the teller hadn't ventured into too much detail about her mysterious ancestor. No, that was something Fern would either have to find out for herself or read up on.

With the little free time she had left, Fern found herself looking through the large book she got eighteen months earlier on Wizarding families and hierarchies. Unfortunately, she got more than she bargained for, when the most it did was encourage her to find out more about her ancestors, as it made her very curious.

In a way, she felt like Alice falling down a hole chasing a white rabbit in a waistcoat, except she was Fernanda staying where she was chasing generations of Potters in a family tree.

Thinking on it, that wasn't so strange; she was part-Alice anyway… and part-Mary, though the only Mary she think of at that time was Mary the First and then she remembered a book in the library at her old primary school on nursery rhymes, which had told her that "Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary" had been written about the Virgin Queen's older half-sister.

The 'silver bells and cockle shells' were supposedly the method of torture as thumb screws when they were being hung on walls waiting for the ultimate execution (the 'pretty maids all in a row.' The Guillotine.)

Fern shuddered a bit at that part, but then most nursery rhymes were based on historic facts and they were often quite grizzly.

Secretly, she hoped that the topic would one day come up in Muggle Studies and she could write an essay on children's literature and culture, though she knew all children familiar with the nursery rhymes knew nothing of the origins, except perhaps with "Ring-a-Ring-o'-Roses" about the Great Plague which occurred for the most part between the years of 1347 and 1350, wiping out at least a third of the European population.

That was another essay-worthy subject (though she highly doubted it in Hogwarts; it was probably more of a Stonewall topic, which was the school she would have been attending had she not been accepted into the former first.)

Regardless of whether or not her musings ever came to light and she got to use them, she noted them down anyway.

Her mind then drifted to Nicolas Flamel, wondering where in the world she'd seen or heard the name. She didn't seem to notice, either, that she had been chewing her quill to pieces in concentration until she received a mouthful of feathers and an unpleasant taste in her mouth.

After that she distracted herself with her chain, instead, weaving her fingers in and out around the beautiful locket Hagrid had given her; you couldn't get down in the mouth with metal.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Sorry about this chapter. To me it seems a bit all over the place and I apologise for that but I don't want to keep everybody waiting years on end for updates. It was only a filler chapter anyway.**


	22. Better Best Forgotten

**BETTER BEST FORGOTTEN**

February passed with few events to note, except for Mr. Weasley's birthday and Valentine's Day, though the latter was for the older students. In spite of that, she received a little Valentine card; the poem inside dubbed "Corny, but cute," by Nicola, as her dorm-mate read aloud.

_Roses are red,  
>Violets are blue,<br>Sugar is sweet,  
>Fernanda is too.<em>

Neither she nor any of her Hufflepuff girl-friends knew who wrote it, though Doris called it "Fern's Funny Valentine."

A week earlier, Fern had sent a package home to the Weasley patriarch. It was only a birthday cake with white fondant and the words, "Happy Birthday, Mr. Weasley," written with Fern's cursive script in green icing, which had taken her a while, with her desire of it being straight and neat to make the gift a bit more presentable. The next day she had received a letter of gratitude from the gentleman in question, saying it was nice to consider him at all.

At the beginning of the next month, she did much the same for a certain son of his. She also gave him a hamper of goodies she had ordered from Honeyduke's for the occasion. Well, to say she ordered it personally wouldn't be entirely true.

The twins were old enough to attend Hogsmeade, so she wrote a list of what she desired they order on her behalf. She paid them ten galleons; six of which were to spend on Ron's major birthday present, where the other four were for the pair of them to buy what they desired. (She still bought them presents for their birthdays on April Fool's Day.)

She also had to knuckle down with coursework, however, and it wasn't until she began writing her potions essay that she was distracted by a name in the glossary of the large book in front of her, which was all about the study of alchemy and potions.

_Nicolas Flamel_, she had read. She flipped to the designated page and began to read.

It turned out that he was responsible for the Philosopher's Stone, a very powerful mineral (even dangerous in the wrong hands, she decided) that could transform any metal into pure gold and produced the highly-esteemed Elixir of Life.

She was sure there would be plenty of people in the world who wanted to live forever, though she didn't want to be one of them. If You-Know-Who returned, however, it terrified her to think that if he were to get his hands on it, the world wouldn't stand a chance.

In all honesty, she didn't want to think about it and she didn't want to put Ron or Hermione in danger by telling them about it; it could only end in disaster. The least said, the better.

One day in late April, she received a note from Hagrid.

_If you'd like, you can come by my hut for a cup of hot chocolate. I've got something I want to show you.  
>Hagrid<em>

And so she did. It was teatime when a barn owl flew down and dropped the note in her dinner.

The arrival time of the invite suggested two things: the owl was particularly slow or it was done purposely; something that needed to be done at night.

Once her dorm-mates were asleep, she went against her better judgement of staying put and gingerly took her invisibility cloak from her trunk.

She crept down the corridors, careful to take note of the prefects. Perhaps it was a good idea to remove her shoes, so she did and put them in an inside pocket of her Hufflepuff robe that she put on over her nightdress and dressing gown.

Fern managed to get down and through the Entrance Hall without the prefects getting suspicious or getting caught, surprisingly.

Once out on the castle grounds, she set off for Hagrid's hut, though not before returning her shoes to her feet, in the hope that there were no teachers or more prefects patrolling and wouldn't hear the scratch of the stone and grit against the rubber on her soles.

Crossing the Entrance Courtyard, traversing down the wooden bridge and past the Stone Circle, she finally reached Hagrid's and, taking her cloak off slightly, just so he knew it was her, she reached out a hand to knock.

As soon as he answered, she was slightly worried. He did seem rather nervous, as if he was scared about some else finding out about whatever it was that was troubling him.

It didn't encourage her thoughts to change when he hastily pulled her inside and shut the door.

"Whatever's the matter?" she asked, concerned for her large friend, who was now going around and making sure all the windows were closed and covered up.

Looking around his hut, however, she noticed that the fire was burning very brightly indeed and there was a black cauldron hanging from the mantelpiece. There was also a strange rattling inside, which suggested that he certainly wasn't cooking. His dinner would just bubble.

"What is it, Hagrid?" she asked, as she witnessed him attempting to find his oven gloves.

Once found, he immediately put them on and pulled a shiny brown sphere out of the cauldron.

Upon closer inspection, however, Fern noticed that it wasn't spherical in profile; it was more of an egg-shaped object… It was an egg.

"Is that what I think it is?" she asked. "A dragon egg?"

"Yeah. I wanted yer to see it 'atch. I know yer like yer animals."

"I won't tell anyone, but what if someone else finds out. You'll probably go to gaol. I don't want you to go to gaol," she said, more worried for the half-giant's welfare than her risk of expulsion for knowing about it in the first place.

"Well, if yer won't tell anyone, how will they find out?"

Hagrid didn't seem to be anxious for probable consequences, but just excited for the hatching of the baby dragon.

Fern really didn't know what to say; she could only hope that Hagrid wouldn't have to be punished for keeping such a creature.

"I won it down the pub, yer know," he told her, but the conversation had ended with his previous statement.

For about five minutes, the egg was rattling and Fern could see the shell start to crack. Two minutes later and the shell fell apart, allowing the little fire-breather to make its appearance.

"Oh, innhe beautiful?" Hagrid smiled. "Aw, bless 'im, look; 'e knows 'is Mummy. 'Ello, Norbert," he cooed, tickling the baby dragon under the chin.

"N-N-Norbert?" she stammered, as she looked between the Bambi-like legs of the Norwegian Ridgeback before her. (She had read the book Charlie had given her for Christmas and could easily distinguish between given types of dragon. That was something she'd be more than happy to thank him for later.) "Sorry to burst your bubble, Hagrid, but I think this little baby is more of a Norberta," she said, gently, though with emphasis on the final syllable.

"Not, is it?" Hagrid was genuinely puzzled.

"It's the same with all living creatures, Hagrid. Look between the legs." It wasn't an order, though more of a fact.

They did with human babies, farm animals, field animals, deep sea invertebrates (though that was usually the mantle above the tentacles, when such creatures were the topic of conversation. This she had discovered in the library at her muggle primary school. Where other children would be reading story books, she would be more likely to try and find something fascinating about nature.)

He checked anyway.

"Oh… Well then, 'ello, Norberta."

Unfortunately, as he was still tickling her, it made her sneeze and she set his beard on fire.

As he tried to put it out with his oven glove, Fern had grabbed a bucket from the other side of the room and magically filled it with water, before throwing it upon her friend in a moment of panic.

As soon as she realised, she'd never felt more remorseful in her life.

"I'm sorry, Hagrid. Really, I didn't th-"

But he cut her off mid-sentence.

"It's fine, Fern. I'd 'ave done the same."

The subject had then returned to Norberta.

"I am sorry, Hagrid, but she can't stay here. Someone's bound to find out and if you're not careful, she could cause any amount of damage. I don't want to sound cruel but she wouldn't be in the best position here. She needs to be with other dragons at a reserve, where she has the freedom to fly around and interact with other dragons."

Fern sighed heavily, though her heart didn't exactly feel feather-light either.

"But, what if the other dragons are mean to 'er? She's just a baby."

"They'd love her. From what Charlie Weasley's told me they like the company of other dragons. He works with them in Romania; he knows their ways. I'm just to trying to consider her best interests."

She hated having to tell him and she was often on edge at the best of times. Standing up, she walked around to Hagrid's side and took his shovel-like hands in her own.

"She could never be truly happy here. She'd be like a trapped butterfly; never able to escape and she'd probably die from the loneliness." Pausing for a moment, she looked Hagrid straight in the eyes.

"Dragons are like elephants… If they're left alone, they wonder what there is left to live for and they eventually die of a broken heart."

When she put it like that, it seemed, Hagrid saw the sense in sending his new 'baby' away. He wanted Norberta to have a good life and to be happy. So what if she wound up to be a vicious, carnivorous, destructive creature, she'd at least be content.

"'Ow would we get 'er out?" he said, with tears in his eyes.

Fern stopped to think about the possibilities for a few moments.

"I could write to Charlie and see if he could come and collect her."

"Well," Hagrid hesitated, "If yer sure it's fer the best?"

"I think so. I'm sure you'd be allowed to go and visit her if you wanted?" she commented, gently stroking the little dragon who seemed to enjoy the comfort of Fern's hands.

Hagrid seemed to be rather embarrassed by his current emotional state and hastily shot up. "Yer best be goin'," he said, handing her invisibility cloak over to her.

"Yes, I think I'd better," she agreed with a sad smile; sad at the thought of Hagrid having to give Nora away (the nickname she mentally chose.) "I'll get back to you on the matter, Hagrid. I'll let you know when the time comes, all right?" That said, she placed a comforting hand on his forearm before leaving, her invisibility cloak over her arm.

"See you in the morning, Hagrid," she whispered. "Goodnight," and she quietly shut the door in case there were any teachers or prefects around.

As she turned around, however, she wasn't met with either sight, though rather by the sneering face of first-year Slytherin Draco Malfoy. She froze on the spot.

"What are you doing, Potter? Sneaking around after dark? Professor Snape won't like this."

"Draco… Please. Don't tell him. Don't tell anyone," Fern panicked.

"I might have to. We can't have me being expelled for knowing about something and not telling, can we?" He was just about ready to blackmail her and she knew it.

"Well, if you don't say a word, no one will know and you won't be expelled."

"What do I get in return for not telling?" He began circling her, making her feel extremely uneasy.

"Anything you want. Please Draco; it's not fair on Hagrid."

He had her exactly where he wanted her now. She was begging for Hagrid to be able to keep his job, in spite of whatever the secret business was between them.

"Everything you own… and more…"

"I can't," she whimpered, not caring what he thought of her. "Most of it isn't mine to give."

"Well, then, I guess certain Dufflepuffs will just have to get expelled, Mummy's girl!" Then a rather cruel idea struck him. He certainly looked forward to this. "Oh, what am I saying? You don't have a Mummy, do you? She's dead because she was too stupid to step aside and let you die!"

"Don't say a word against my mother!" Fern raised her voice for the first time in her life, uncaring of the tears now falling from her eyes.

"Oh, don't give me those crocodile tears. They don't fool me," he mocked. "And you can't fool Snape either because we both know you're a spoiled brat and you always get your way because you're Dumbledore's golden girl. I'm gonna give you what for." With that, he snatched her wrist, his fist like a vice, and ran across the castle grounds in through the Entrance Hall and down to the dungeons.

Along the way, however, were several prefects. He just stepped into a corner and tried to suffocate his foe until they left.

Once down in the dungeons, he hammered on Professor Snape's office door.

It wasn't long before a very irate Potions Master answered the door. "What?" he said, with a threatening voice.

"I have a rule-breaker you're going to want to punish, Professor," he smirked, throwing the girl against the door. He was loving this. "Caught her out of bed after hours, Professor. She was down at Hagrid's Hut. Said she was sleepwalking and didn't realise," he out-right lied. "I don't believe her."

"Return to your dormitory, Malfoy. I'll see you in the morning" was all he said to the little snitch. "You, in," he ordered and, without hesitation, she ran into his office, perhaps more out of fear than anything else. "So, what's all this I hear?"

"It's not Hagrid's fault!" she defended her friend, choking back a sob.

"What's not Hagrid's fault?"

"Something was bothering him. I had to go and help him. Don't get him the sack, please."

The girl was on her knees in front of him. Severus Snape was never the type to be easily puzzled by anything but why in Merlin's name was the girl begging? More to the point, why was she begging for the gamekeeper's job rather than her position at the school? She didn't seem to care if she got expelled.

"Stand up." His tone was soft and undemanding.

She did so, for the habit of obedience she had been taught at the Dursleys.

Once on her feet, she reached into the inside pocket of her robe and pulled out a tissue. She seemed to cry so often nowadays and made a point of carrying them around in her pockets as a precaution.

"I've heard his story," he said, carefully. He'd been strangely tempted to exchange 'story' for 'pack of lies.' "It's your turn," he decided, sitting down on the sofa. "First off, why were you visiting Hagrid in the first place?"

"I'm sorry, Professor. I can't tell you," she sniffled. "If anyone found out, there's no telling what they'd do to him. I know he loves his animals but they're too dangerous, apart from Fang; he's just soft."

"What has he got now then?" he sighed, exasperatedly. He knew all about Hagrid's strange taste in pets and nothing surprised him anymore, other than the fact that Dumbledore let Hagrid keep them. No, Hagrid was never satisfied with just a dog for company.

The girl shook her head, not wanting to tell him. She honestly wanted to tell him for Hagrid's own good, as well as Nora's, but something was nagging away in the back of her head. Her heart was telling her 'Say it,' while her head was saying 'Don't.'

'Follow your heart; not your head,' she remembered from somewhere but she didn't want to tell Professor Snape. Then again, if she did, she could risk expulsion for 'A' – going to see Hagrid at all – and 'B' for knowing about it.

Still, if only he and Dumbledore knew, maybe nothing would happen to Hagrid at all. Why should it matter that she be sent from Hogwarts? Surely, she could be home-schooled instead?

Sighing heavily, she spoke to her teacher, but never one did she look at him.

"Hagrid has a dragon. Well, she just hatched, actually. He sent me a note at teatime but didn't specify what the situation was. So I got my father's invisibility cloak." She turned her face away from him. "I shouldn't have done it and I'm not proud of it but curiosity just got the better of me."

By now, nervous as she was about sharing the unpleasantness, she began to fiddle with her hair and began to wring it in her hands, unknowing of her future situation.

"I'm more of ashamed of the fact that I told him Nora had to go. She's so lovely."

"And she will turn into a killing machine," he said.

"I know," she sniffed. "That's what I told him. So I said I'd contact Charlie Weasley and that he could come and collect her." At this she whipped round on the spot, her loose hair flying around like fabric blowing in the wind.

Exactly why on Earth she had such long hair, Severus Snape doubted he would ever know.

"Please don't think ill of me," she said, snapping him out of his musings. "Though I wouldn't blame you if you did. I've betrayed Hagrid's trust and I certainly don't deserve his kindness." Pausing, she thought for a moment. "You may take me to Professor Dumbledore if you like. I don't mind being expelled. It's my fault."

The girl in front of him seemed to betray his expectations. Being the daughter of James Potter had all-too-often suggested 'Spoiled Brat,' but something told him that he had perhaps looking too deep for Potter and had neglected the Evans side. Had he not loved Lily as much as he hated Potter?

For one thing, the girl seemed to possess little self-confidence and the only part of confidence he had witnessed was her defence of Hagrid. She must care a great deal about someone to place their welfare above their own needs and desires. Lily always did that for someone she loved.

"You can't be expelled for being honest, Miss Potter, though I must serve detention next Friday. I also wish to award twenty points to Hufflepuff."

Her damp eyes went wide with surprise. Since when was Severus Snape so generous?

"Why such a large number?" she asked in bafflement.

"Because you told the truth and have saved a man a lifetime imprisonment in Azkaban."

"But then…" She didn't really know how to word it. "How do you know? I mean…"

"Reclusive body language suggests to me pure integrity. Mr Malfoy was rather cocky with his tale and I shall be speaking with him in the morning." That said, he rose and walked to the table, where a quill, ink and parchment lay, he began to write.

"I shall write to your Head of House informing her of your misdemeanour, even if it was in a good cause. I am sure, however, she will be proud of your decision and the points I've awarded you this evening."

'Maybe now, she'll forget the nagging she's made me endure since the start of the year. That's your fault and all,' he thought, as he continued to write. Once he had finished, Professor Snape had a silent argument with Professor Sprout who was nowhere near him. 'There, Pomona. Shove that on your broom and fly it!' he mentally shouted, as he folded the parchment and attempted to hand it to his student to give to his colleague.

For some bizarre reason, he felt as though he could trust the girl, though evidently not with her own hair.

As she approached the desk with intent to take the note she only then realised she had tied her hands together. She tried to unravel herself, but to no avail.

All she wanted to do was go straight to her dormitory and how could she when she now possessed the inability to perform such a simple task as opening a door.

"E-Excuse me, Professor," she stammered. "Could you… please?"

It would seem the teacher knew what she was asking, as he stood up and personally unravelled her hair from around her hands.

"Thank you," she whispered with a grateful smile, and took the letter handed to her.

"Don't know what you need it for," he commented. "You don't live in the Astronomy Tower. Quick way to get to the greenhouse, though."

This had been intended for only his ears, yet somehow his mouth had been speaking instead of his mind.

"Indeed, Professor, but I can't cut it. Madam Pomfrey tried and that's when this happened." To demonstrate, she lifted up her hair from the floor. "Just get used to it after a while."

Shaking her head, she immediately stopped talking. He didn't want to know her whole life story.

"Well, here I am gabbing away irritating you. I'm sorry, sir. I'll take this to Professor Sprout and then I'll go to bed. I promise."

You didn't need to be a genius to know that she would keep it.

As she moved to open the door, she took one last look at her teacher.

"Thank you for your kindness and understanding tonight, Professor. In a way I'm glad Draco told you. Goodnight," she smiled, and shut the door behind her.

The last thing Snape did was express a look of confusion and wonder.

Over the years, he'd called her every name under the sun and, whilst she knew it, she didn't hold a grudge against him.

Anyway, tonight was probably better best forgotten. He couldn't suddenly start showing favouritism to the Girl-He-Believed-He-Hated-For-So-Long, could he? No, everything would be back to normal in the morning, for appearances sake at least.

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><p><strong>AN: So there's that. The amount of times I had to rewrite this chapter was absolutely ridiculous. That's why there's such a large gap between updates. Too much writer's block –Argh!**

**Hope you enjoyed it. If you didn't I wouldn't blame you; it's caused so much trouble.**


	23. A Matter of Conscience

**A MATTER OF CONSCIENCE**

The first thing Fern did when she woke the next morning was write a letter to Charlie and send it before she had breakfast.

As the day wore on, she hadn't spoken to anyone, which her friends thought rather strange. She was always the first person to say 'Good morning' or ask how anyone was, though it was clear she had other things occupying her mind.

Neither did anyone know the business of the night before. She had gathered this was Professor Snape's desire for privacy and image; he wouldn't want the school to think he'd gone soft.

Plus, Professor Sprout, in the traditional Hufflepuff manner, was all for loyalty and had spoken to no-one regarding the Potion Master's note.

Instead of enjoying the sun away from the school week's classes, Fern stayed in her dormitory revising for her end of year exams and pondering how to get Norberta out of the castle without anyone seeing.

At first she thought 'Spongify' could be a good method before concluding it was a pretty silly idea. It was hardly practical, standing at the base of the grand staircase and bouncing to the astronomy tower by casting the spell on the stone tile she stood on. She'd have to rethink that one.

After a while, all of her revision efforts were useless, while she scribbled down all possibilities of illegal dragons and methods of removal.

The invisibility cloak was a possibility, but dragons had a tendency for breathing fire and would probably set both the cloak and herself alight, unless she could somehow keep Nora's mouth permanently closed. She decided that was cruel so immediately scribbled a line through it.

Anyway, she'd think of something closer to the time; she still had to wait for a reply off Charlie, which could take a couple of days, considering the distance between Scotland and Romania.

Not wishing to continue the matter and her own personal debate, she screwed up her 'suggestion paper' and returned to potions revision. It was a subject Fern described as a necessity; there was no telling when she may need to mix an emergency potion.

Three days passed by, but Fern wasn't very talkative and mostly kept to herself. Ron and Hermione were quite concerned about her, but she told them they needn't worry and that she didn't want to burden them with her problems. Her other friends just left her be.

She received a reply from Charlie the following Thursday telling her he'd be ready Saturday night to take Norberta to the dragon sanctuary in Romania.

The problem she still had to face was how to get her out of the castle, without being seen. She could ask Hagrid if he could do it himself, though that seemed unfair and he could lose his job over it.

Then she pondered asking Dumbledore if he had any ideas, but the idea fell flat on its back. He'd been called away earlier that week and wouldn't be back for a couple more days.

As she paced the common room that Thursday night (while everyone was in bed and she couldn't sleep) she remembered telling Professor Snape of the situation and hadn't heard another word about it. Perhaps she could be brave for once in her life and ask him for help, which she'd never done to anyone before.

She still had detention to serve with him the following evening, so decided she could try and ask him then.

As Friday's classes came to an end, she prepared for her detention (as in what to say to her teacher.)

She had her dinner that night, though had lost her appetite over the imminent confrontation.

At three minutes to eight, Fern shakily knocked on the potions classroom door.

"Enter," a voice came from the other side, though the volume was rather quiet. Saying that, Professor Snape was usually quiet in speech and Fern was surprised she managed to hear his whispered instruction.

Try as she might, she couldn't open the door. It wouldn't budge. 'Perhaps all the potion fumes have caused the joints to seize up,' she wondered to herself, though it did little for her fruitless attempts to open the door; even going so far as to try and push it open with her back for extra force.

"For Merlin's sake, enter!" Professor Snape bellowed.

With one last kick to open the door and get to detention on time, the strained Hufflepuff fell through the doorframe, landing on her stomach.

"Sorry for kicking your door, Professor. I think your hinges have frozen," was the first thing she said from her position on the floor, before moving to get to her feet and gingerly shut the door behind her as though afraid it may turn against her and blow up in her face.

She backed away slowly, not quite trusting it not to retaliate, for things in the Wizarding world (inanimate objects especially) had a tendency for doing exactly what they wanted when they wanted and not what live souls wished of them.

Once assured the aged door wouldn't explode on her, she turned around to face Snape.

If Severus Snape was honest, he had to chuckle for the girl's tentative actions towards the door, but he had an image to uphold and mustered a sneer instead.

"Come here," he demanded in a no-nonsense tone.

She stayed put and looked anywhere but at him.

"I said 'come here.' I don't bite," he snapped.

Unlike a dog, he may not bite, though like the traditional canine companion, he could certainly bark when the mood took him.

Not wanting to disagree with him, she shakily approached his desk.

"What would like me to do for detention, Professor?" she asked, wanting nothing more than to get the task (whatever it may be) over and done with.

"You can sort the vials on the shelves and in the cabinets into alphabetical order and dispose of empties or out of date ingredients. If you've done them within an hour, as is expected, you can clean the cauldrons laid out on the desk from a disastrous first-year class earlier today."

This Professor Snape was certainly different from the one she'd seen last week, but at the time she didn't expect it would last too long anyway.

As she approached the nearest shelf, she rolled up the sleeves of her dress (one she wore at Potter Manor if she was going out to see the horses or pick apples from the orchard) before clearing the top shelf with haste and placing the vials on a free desk.

Then she started to sort through them; _aconite_, _ashwinder egg_, _asphodel_, _baneberry_, _bat spleen_, _bezoar_, _billywig sting_, _chizpurfle carapace_, _crocodile heart_… The list went on.

She went through shelf after shelf of ingredients, most of which were in date, though a few expired a couple of months earlier.

In about an hour, everything defected or devoid of fluid was thrown away, and the remaining ingredients were in alphabetical order. She was tempted to write out labels for each of the shelves, so students would know where to find something if they needed to, but she didn't expect Professor Snape would appreciate it much.

Still, she could ask, she supposed. What harm could there be in asking if it helped someone?

"Professor?" she asked, delicately.

"Yes?" he responded, icily.

"I was wondering if… maybe… if you would like some labels putting on the shelves so people can find what they're looking for if they need to borrow extra ingredients? I know you like to be organised; it may help you, too."

The suggestion was completely harmless and Professor Snape, though he hated to agree with the girl, decided that she could.

She seemed to be taking a while, writing the individual labels out.

"Why are they taking so long?" he demanded.

"I thought I'd try and help you by writing it down so you don't have to say it," and she handed a label to him.

It had the complete contents of the shelf and at the bottom, she had written, '_We are in alphabetical order. Please put us back where you found us. Thank you, Ingredients._'

One thing was for sure, she could be quite amusing and he had to bite his lip to prevent himself from laughing.

"I suppose it will do," he said, curtly, and handed it back to her, so she could stick it on the cabinet. When her back was turned however, the façade dissipated and he smiled at her humour. When she turned back to face him, however, his steely gaze had returned.

Once everything was labelled, she took a cauldron off a desk at the back of the classroom, brought it to the front and sat on the floor with the vessel between her legs and a scrubbing brush in her hand.

"Why are you on the floor?" he asked.

"Well, I prefer it, really, Professor. I felt some of them and they're quite slippy, I didn't want them flying across the room and hitting you. I imagine you'd want all your facial features to remain intact."

It was nice of her to consider him at all. Few people had done in the thirty-two years he'd been around them.

When she was on her third, with her hands full of gunge from the inside of the cauldrons, a dirty, sweaty forehead and her hair frizzy and wild from the effort placed into ensuring her mentor wouldn't be too displeased with her, she spoke up, though not once did she stop to give herself a rest.

"Professor?"

"Yes, Miss Potter?" he asked, not looking up from his papers.

"Can I ask you a question?"

When she received no reply, she continued, albeit unsure on whether or not it was an invitation to carry on or a sign for her shut up.

"You know the conversation we had last week?"

"You mean the one where you burst into tears and later tied yourself up?" he sneered.

"Yes," she said, after a pause, ashamed of her behaviour seven days earlier. "Well, it's about the dragon."

"Hagrid's dragon? Hagrid, who should know better at his age."

"He means well, Professor. He really does," Fern defended, stopping her scrubbing to look at him with meaning. "It's just in his nature. He doesn't mean any harm."

"Suppose you've been speaking to Dumbledore, have you?" he mocked.

"No, Sir."

He was clearly trying to play her for a fool. Perhaps she was, but the most infuriating thing about her, he decided, was that she knew it.

"Anyway, it's beside the point. I wrote to Charlie; you know, my friend I was telling you about? Well, he wrote me back and he said he could collect her this Saturday night. But I don't know how I could get her from Hagrid and to the Astronomy Tower without being seen."

"And what has this to do with me?" Snape spat.

"Well…" She sighed, defeated. "I know I'm a fighting a losing battle and I won't deny it, but I don't know what to do. I did… well, that is to say…"

It was hopeless. She was hopeless, which was clearly evident, as she turned away from him and wiped her eyes, both unaware and uncaring of all the dirt caking her hands.

The teacher, meanwhile, groaned, ever-agitated at the girl's stupidity.

"What were you going to say?" he asked.

"It would put your position in jeopardy and I wouldn't want you to lose your job just because I was selfish."

"So, now you're telling me that you were going to ask me to do your dirty work, just so you could keep your education and I'd be out the door?"

If there was ever a more true thing to be said, it was that Severus Snape loved manipulating the pathetic little girl.

"I never said that," she said. "I didn't want to ask you, but I didn't know what to do."

At this, she got up from her position on the floor and turned to face him.

"I swear I'd do it myself, but I don't know how. If I had any idea, I'd never have said a word."

For once in her life, Fernanda Potter tried to stand up for herself and it had backfired. She could only protect the people she loved and she clearly didn't love herself. If she did, she could easily protect herself.

"And there's me thinking you had an invisibility cloak," he sneered, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"I considered that option, Professor, believe me. I don't think it would work and I'm not suffocating Nora to save my own skin. I'll just take her up myself, no cloak, get caught by a prefect, brought to you and expelled. I don't care."

That said, she turned away from him, sat back on the floor and continued to scrub away all the scum on the cauldron, as though scrubbing her own life away.

"I don't care for your tone of voice, Potter," he seethed, rising from his seat to circle her.

If it were any other student he was insulting, they'd say nothing more than, "I don't care much for your company, but I'm not complaining."

Unfortunately, being who she was, Fern kept silent.

"Finish that cauldron and get out," he demanded, with a threatening whisper in her ear.

She did as she was told, all the while trying not to let him see how much he'd hurt her.

Once she'd completed the task at hand, she wiped her hands on her filthy skirt and left the classroom with nothing more than a "Goodnight, Professor," never once looking at him.

"Goodnight," the angry teacher shouted after her, slamming the door before she was hardly out of the room. "Infuriating child. Just like your father!"

Sitting back at his desk, to try and calm himself down, he considered her words.

The way she spoke about herself was upsetting, as though she didn't care if she got expelled or her cousin decided he didn't want her after the event and she would have to live in a cardboard box for the rest of her life.

She spoke of herself like Draco Malfoy would speak of anyone else; that they were worthless and discredited society with their very being.

The poor girl was only trying to help her friend and ask a perfectly innocent question and he had no right to speak to her the way he did.

He surveyed her tasks during her detention as he went around the individual shelves. Everything was alphabetical and perfectly aligned with every label the same way.

She had even put forth the effort to try and save him trouble later by writing a little note on the shelf, as though the ingredients cared where her fellow students put them.

He then examined the cauldrons she'd cleaned and, while she seemed to spend ages trying to get them to gleam, she tried her utmost best and he couldn't fault her for that.

Neither had she left mounds of mess from the now-stale ingredient mixes all over the floor; she had wiped them on her clothes, as though she genuinely cared less about herself and more about other people and her surroundings. Almost as if she didn't want to leave him with the task of getting rid of it himself.

She didn't know, either, what the flawed products could do to her; particularly to her face where she had smothered herself in the stuff uncaring of the consequences.

"They won't disfigure her, but they could," he said to himself. "What's wrong with you, you soft sod?" he snapped, scolding himself for caring.

But, there was the nagging business about the dragon. One thing was for sure, she couldn't go, especially if Malfoy was sneaking around after dark like the previous week. He would blab to his father and there was no telling what Lucius Malfoy would do to her.

No, he didn't want to think about what his undesirable companion would do to the young witch.

Then another thought struck him. Dumbledore was out and Severus secretly wondered if the old wizard had done it on purpose, knowing perfectly well what the situation was. These thoughts did nothing for his anger at the man. Dumbledore could get the girl killed and he didn't seem to care.

There seemed only to be one solution – 'Do it your bloody self!'

He was in a position of authority and the students should respect him. Not all of them did, but they should do.

Thinking on the matter, he couldn't be sacked for protecting a student and in his job, any action he carried out should be taken with the highest degree of understanding.

Yes, he would do it. If not for the dragon, then for the one person who cared about her.

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><p><strong>AN: So, that's that. I'm not happy with it, but hopefully someone's daft enough to like it. If Fern's becoming a Mary-Sue, please let me know.**

**Anyway, Merry Christmas, xx**


	24. The Masks We Wear

**A/N: Thanks to everyone for all the favourites and reviews. Special thanks to Andrea.**

**Reviews always get the creative juices flowing and everybody's kind words inspire me to write more. (I wasn't exactly sure how many people would actually like this story.)**

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><p><strong>THE MASKS WE WEAR<strong>

Fernanda doubted she'd ever been so happy to leave a place as to leave the classroom she'd just served detention in.

She didn't mind Professor Snape, and she was sure he was just doing his job, but some of the things he could say were both humiliating and unfair.

"I shouldn't grumble, really," she said. "There are worse things going on in the world; I've no right to complain."

At the end of the corridor, she stopped, leaning against the wall to steady her panicked, nervous breaths. Her stern teacher certainly had a way of putting her on edge.

After about two minutes, she felt ready to continue and left to return to her dormitory.

One her way across the hall, however, she caught sight of a suspicious individual and hastily ducked behind a brazier, albeit wary of setting herself on fire. To try and prevent any accidents, she slowly sat on the floor behind the four-foot light-giver and waited for whoever it was to leave. She didn't really want to risk expulsion if she could help it.

"_She will come_," a faint voice hissed.

"I do not doubt you, Master," came the trembling tone of someone Fern knew. Who was the most nervous personage that the Hogwarts' body knew?

'_Professor Quirrell_?' Fern mouthed to herself and, going against her better judgement of ignoring the scene before her and going to bed, she peered every-so-slightly around the pillar's corner and watched the usually-jumpy Professor stride with a newfound air of confidence up the stairs to a place she knew very well.

"That doesn't seem much like Professor Quirrell," she whispered to herself.

Green eyes focused on the uncharacteristic being before her, and they followed him all the way up to the third-floor.

Something wasn't right. She didn't know whether to ignore everything and go to bed like any sensible student would do, inform a higher authority, tell her favourite teacher (like slimy blabbermouths – Draco Malfoy and such) or follow him and try to ensure the safety of her fellow students.

Option four was probably the kindest option.

Anyone who knew Fern would know full well that she would always be willing to go out of her way to help someone else; even for her worst enemy.

At the moment it seemed to be the teacher she had just abandoned, but if he was in trouble, she would surely do anything if it would only protect and defend him.

That aside, the Wizarding world could be in danger and if she simply stood idly by and watched it collapse around her ears, she doubted she would ever forgive herself.

Once the not-so-nervy-Defence-teacher was out of sight, and checking there were no prefects around, Fern made her move, quietly crawling out from behind the marble torch and following the suspicious character.

She didn't know if it was a good thing or a bad thing she was about to do.

She usually obeyed every rule going, but something was niggling in her subconscious and she had to solve the problem.

As she followed his every step, she watched him enter the gigantic dog's room. Regretfully, she still didn't know his name. It had to be something cute, though.

She waited with baited breath for about five minutes, before opening the creaky door.

Upon her entry, there was no real sign that anybody had been in there at all, though there was a harp in there that she hadn't seen before, considering the numerous times she had been to spend time with the triple-headed canine.

It was playing a lullaby of some sort and the dog seemed to be sleeping. Seemed to be; it was snoring its head off.

She remembered once asking the dog if anything was through the trapdoor he stood on, though naturally she had received no answer.

"No time like the present," she said to herself, lifting her grungy skirt above her waist to remove her wand from her left garter.

Whenever she wasn't wearing a robe, the most logical place to keep her magic stick was in her elastic garters. They held her stockings up, why shouldn't they hold her wand?

"Wingardium Leviosa," she whispered, and carefully levitated the dog's paw to the side so she could get to the handle and begin her journey into the unknown.

Her undisturbed bliss didn't last too long, however, as the harp stopped playing and the dog was ready to turn.

She hadn't been paying too much attention to the harp or the beast, only hoping that the music didn't stop and he didn't wake, but she should have listened to her surroundings and it wasn't until she decided her future plans of following the teacher through the door that she noticed how eerily quiet it had gotten.

It would seem the dog wasn't too happy with the intruder and didn't waste time in discovering who it was, as he lashed out in haste at the interruption by slowly raising a paw and roaring his discontent with a large, vicious scratch to Fern's back, as she fell down the black pit, screaming at the pain at both her back and chest. (Her chest pains had returned the closer she got to Professor Quirrell, which she didn't quite understand.)

To Fern, it felt as though she were falling into nothing, before landing on a pile of thick, green vines, which slowly started closing around her legs and then her arms, constricting her movement.

Of all the ways to die, she had to be strangled to death by a plant.

Then she remembered a Herbology lesson from the year before, where Professor Sprout spoke about the Devil's Snare. That's what this slimy stuff was.

"It doesn't like light," she remembered, before realising how hopeless it was. She was bound by the plant, her wand in her hand which was now tied to her abdomen.

She decided to relax into it, as if it helped in some way. She remained deep in thought, weighing her options for a few moments, before receiving the sensation of the vines relaxing and pulling her down before she landed with a thud on the hard floor below, right on her scratched back.

Her heavy breaths seemed to relieve some of the biting sensations in her back. Better to find an easier way to deal with pain than by screaming all the time.

With one hand caressing her back, she slowly got to her feet and examined her dark surroundings. It was pitch-black so she lit her wand with "_Lumos_."

Lifting it to eye-level, she looked for an escape route. There was nothing but a door in her prison cell, though she only had herself to blame.

Then came a fluttering sound.

"Butterflies?" she asked herself. Funny thing to have in a death-trap.

Grabbing the metal ring, the handle, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Raising her wand again, she looked to the ceiling, where a mass of winged keys were slowly gliding through the room.

Then, she noticed the door on the opposite side and a broomstick, which she had no desire to use.

She had two options. Either she had to fly the broomstick (which she didn't like the sound of) to grab a key to unlock the door, or she had to stay in the room for all eternity.

The latter seemed like a pretty good option to her, but she got herself into this mess, she had to get herself out.

Still, there had to be another way than getting slashed to pieces by angry lock-openers riding a broomstick; she just couldn't think of it at the moment.

If she knew any summoning charms, she could easily try and get it, but they didn't come for a few more years.

"Oh, you silly girl," she insulted herself. "_Wingardium Leviosa_," she recited, focusing on a key with a piece missing from its left wing.

Gently, she pulled it towards her, trying to avoid disturbing the other keys. Had she, perhaps they would have attacked her. In a way, she was glad she chose common sense over the brash decision of flying the broom, which could make the objects feel under threat.

No other keys were disturbed with the most simple charm of all; the first charm all Hogwarts students learned.

As she held the key by its ring, careful not to shatter its other wing, she opened the lock to the door, surprised at how easy it was to find the key to start with. However, it did appear to differ from the others flying with it, wherein both wings were still intact.

Opening the door slightly, she released the key, allowing it to fly with its companions before walking into the next room.

It appeared to be an awful lot darker in here than in the previous two rooms, which was made evident as Fern fell over something on her way in, grazing her right knee through her stocking, which, thanks to the culprit, had put a massive hole in the grubby garment. Several massive holes, even.

Whilst still on the floor, Fern picked up the cause; a piece of black marble and, unable to see the jagged edge, inadvertently sliced through her skin with it.

"Ow!" she exclaimed, instantly dropping the vicious sliver, as she focused her attention on both nursing her hand and trying to get to her feet.

"I suppose it's tetanus time when I get out of here," she said.

If there was one thing for sure, she was severely lacking in vaccinations, for the Dursleys never wanted to do anything to help her. They refused to pay any money towards dental, doctor or hospital fees and, quite frankly, it was a wonder Fern had any teeth, limbs or bones left.

In a way, she was looking forward to being treated for illness with a tetanus injection, knowing full well that Simon would take her to St. Mungo's before she could even say "I cut myself."

Once again, she lifted her skirt. This time, however, it was to tear some fabric from her undergarments to dress her wounds.

"It's my fault; I'll do it myself," she told herself.

Having patched herself up, she moved forward three paces, before the room was bathed in faint light from flames which had erupted around the square area she was standing in.

Her surroundings first suggested some kind of cemetery, though with a second glance, she discovered what it really was.

If the chequered floor was anything to go by, it was clearly a chessboard.

Standing in the middle of the board, she looked at the pieces before her.

All the white bodies were there, though the blacks were one member short. It would be sixteen against fifteen.

Looking behind her, Fern noticed the small aisle she ventured across was covered with dust from one destroyed piece. It was a castle.

"Am I to play the game or can I get through now?" she pondered.

Walking forward (with a limp, from her badly cut knee) she approached the white pawns with great caution and jumped back when all swords were drawn, as though ready to hack her head off.

"I think that's answered my question," she told herself, before examining her surroundings and taking her place in the empty square where the rook had once been.

She knew exactly what was coming. Impending death. It was inevitable, but the best she could do was try not to dwell on her fate, as many characters around her were blitzed on both sides (most of them her own pieces through not paying too much attention to the instructions she was handing out, though her companions didn't exactly do much to stop her from killing them off either.)

She tried to think of any possible way to get through the door on the other side. Obviously checkmate, but how would she get there?

After ages of arguing her situation with herself, she remembered a game of wizards' chess she once played with Ron.

Miraculously (and completely unable to believe both her luck and her eyes) the pieces were in the exact position and she hadn't even realised until now.

"Knight to H3," she said, as her black knight took his place, only to be destroyed by the white queen.

She now remembered her stupidity during the previous game with a silly move and decided to do a Ron, by instructing her bishop to move to the right diagonal. "Checkmate," she said, simply, as the white king's sword clattered to the floor.

"I love you, Ron," she smiled, as she then moved on to the next room, albeit with caution should the white king decide to attack her. How would Fern know this charmed chess piece wasn't a sore loser?

The room she now entered, the final room, was certainly not lacking in light, though she didn't really notice this for the searing pain in her chest. Her scar was burning and she couldn't help but wonder if it was the consequences of her actions that encouraged this.

Since the start of the year, she remembered, she had several issues in Defence Against the Dark Arts, though she'd simply ignored them. They certainly hadn't been this painful before.

Then a cold, merciless voice spoke.

"Poor baby, does it hurt?" There was no comfort in it whatsoever. "Clearly there's a lesson to be learned here. Little girls shouldn't play men's games."

Fern managed to somehow get to her feet, though she had to use a pillar for support.

"Don't think I don't know why you followed me, Potter," the once-meek Quirrell spat. "Greed."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about?" Fern responded with complete honesty.

In truth, she didn't really know why she followed him and could think of no plausible reason other than the safety of her fellow students.

She had noticed he'd been different when he'd been teaching her a year ago; somehow more genuine, but now she saw the greed of a wizard. Surely he must be the greedy one; he was the one who mentioned it.

"Oh, you don't. Well, would you care to take a look?"

He gestured to the mirror before him, as he stepped to the side, knowing he would see only Fernanda Potter and himself as they were if he hadn't.

Gingerly, she walked toward the Mirror of Erised, expecting to see her parents, though saw little more than her own reflection for a few moments until her doppelganger lifted from the front pocket of her apron a ruby-red faceted gem.

At first she thought it was a ruby, but surely they weren't that big to start with and what would she need it for?

The section she read in the book a few weeks before returned to her mind; the one regarding the philosopher's stone.

That must have been what the mineral before her was as she watched her mirror-twin replace it in her pocket.

Simultaneously, she felt a heavy weight drop in her own. Somehow, she now had it, though decided to ignore it. Quirrell would more than likely find out if she made any sudden gestures and he'd kill her as soon as he noticed.

"What is it? What do you see?" he demanded, impatiently.

She knew what she was going to say.

"I see me, Professor. Just me. No one else."

"_She lies_," the disembodied voice from before hissed once again.

"Tell the truth! What do you see?"

Whoever Professor Quirrell really was made Fern doubt herself. He was certainly a good actor when playing weak-willed; she had to give him that.

"_Let me speak to her_."

"Master, you are not strong enough," Quirrell defended.

"_I have strength enough for this_," the hoarse tone said finally, as Quirrell then removed the purple turban from his head to reveal another face reflected in the mirror, though this one was marred and it certainly did not fit on the back of her Professor's head. Nothing but the turban had a right to be there.

"Fernanda Potter! We meet again!" The voice was easier to hear now and, clear as it was, it really gave her the willies.

The pre-teen, meanwhile, tried her utmost best to ignore her chest pains. Surely she couldn't give up already and let him win?

"I'm terribly sorry, but what is going on, Professor Quirrell?"

"You thought he went to Albania for a holiday," the blemished face sneered.

It could happen. People often went abroad for holidays. In this case however, it seemed as though the Defence teacher had gone there to bring back an evil soul with the inability to produce a body of his own.

"I came here for you!" the voice yelled.

"Are you… who I… think you are?" Fern hesitated, slowly moving backwards, trying to find something to hold onto for support.

"Yes. I am Lord Voldemort. I killed your parents, but if they'd had any sense they'd have stood aside."

"The reason they didn't was because they loved each other; nothing else. They did nothing to hurt you."

Love was nothing to the monster before her… both of them.

"Don't be a fool, Fernanda!" He snapped, in the same hoarse voice. "I went for you and they wouldn't let me have you."

As he got closer to her, her scar burned with great intensity and she had to fight the urge to scream out loud, but, in doing so, it only showed further powerlessness, to which Voldemort laughed.

"Such weakness!"

What was weak? The crying business or love itself? To Voldemort, probably both.

"Now stop snivelling and give me the stone!"

"I don't have it!" Fern outright lied with intent to protect the Wizarding world from an immortal serial killer. Needless to say, it didn't work.

Emotional blackmail, it appeared, was now the only way to get what he wanted.

"You know, with the stone, we could bring them back."

Fern's tear-filled eyes were now fixated on the two adults in the mirror before her, as his own face disappeared from within.

She'd fallen right into his trap and he knew it. She would give into her desperation for her parents and hand him the stone, no matter the consequences.

Fern lost herself in the past before her, almost tuning out what the murderer was saying; trying to coax her into handing over the source of ultimate power – immortality (or his idea of power, at least.)

After a while, however, she returned her attention to his cruel voice and watched the now blurry images of her parents dissolve into the mirror as Voldemort's silhouetted merged back in.

"There is no good and evil," he had said, "only power and those too weak to seek it."

Her mind now felt quite hazy, mulling over everything that was going on, as she then slowly looked into the angry red eyes of her rival and subconsciously removed the source of the world's misery from her pocket.

"GIVE IT TO ME!" she heard him yell.

"NEVER, YOU LIAR!" she yelled in return, thinking of nothing more than the heartless trick he'd played with her own heart. In spite of her despair, she was getting brave all of a sudden, regarding her accurate assumption of living, breathing parasites.

"KILL HER!" Voldemort ordered, unable to complete the act himself, due to sharing his body with the teacher.

Quirrell lunged at the girl and pinned her to the floor.

The shock had caused Fern to lose her grip on the stone and it tumbled down the stairs out of her grasp. Coincidentally, it was also out of Quirrell's grasp, though that was probably a good thing.

Asphyxiation seemed to be the chosen method of murder at this precise moment in time as, with every breath the student took, the tighter the teacher's grip became around her neck.

The only thing she could think of to give her half a chance was to try and lift his clamped hands from her neck, as, with all the strength she could muster, took her own hand and put it on top of his.

As she tried to pull his hand away, however, something rather unnerving to Fern happened.

His skin appeared to turn to stone before disintegrating.

So all of a sudden, Fern's hands possessed the same powers as Medusa's stare? Was the girl a gorgon in disguise? No, that would be silly.

"What is this magic?" Quirrell asked, confused, as he watched his appendage crumble to dust.

"Fool! Get the stone!" Voldemort's hoarse demand returned, but not before Fern got there first with both hands on Quirrell's face; the idea being that if he was destroyed, Voldemort would be too and there would be no more animosity between magic folk and muggles.

The world could rest in peace, knowing the guilty party had been entirely destroyed and everyone could be at peace with one another. Of course, Fern always was one for peace and harmony and many individuals would dismiss her ideals as complete twaddle and never speak to her again for her naïveté.

All Fern could do was watch in horror at what she'd just done.

She'd yelled at her teacher in a fit of anguish and turned him into nothing more than a pile of powder.

Sitting down on the staircase, she had to think through her actions; her transgression.

A minute of silence and then she reached out a bony, bleeding hand, to the philosopher's stone now lying on the floor. She stared at it for a few moments before turning tense at the sensation erupting behind her.

As she slowly stood up and semi-circled to face the scene, a scream left her larynx before she felt the force of a villainous soul passing through her own and fell back, banging her head on the stair, before rolling down them getting tangled up in her violent mane of hair, with the stone lying limp in her left hand.

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><p><strong>AN: There goes another one. I'm not sure about these chapters. I try not to follow the books word for word like so many other people do; it's just too obvious and predictable because we know exactly what's going to follow. I'm trying to be original. So far it seems to be working, but I've been wrong before.**


	25. Flight of the Dragon

**FLIGHT OF THE DRAGON**

If there was one thing to be said of one particular Potions Master it was that he was absolutely furious; not with himself, or the insufferable child he despised so, but with the headmaster.

He knew perfectly well what was going on and he'd beggared off to get away from the school so Voldemort could get in and dispose of the girl.

He also must have known she would go after the precious mineral guarded by many elements of certain death to save her fellow wizards and witches from a fate worse than death (because if Voldemort were to succeed, no one would stand a chance.)

Seriously, did the headmaster think Severus Snape was completely stupid?

"Well, your plan didn't work anyway," the dark-haired man said to no one but himself.

Yes, the Dark Lord was dead now; he had no way of coming back. And Quirrell was gone too. Served him right though – poor excuse for a Ravenclaw he was. Clearly not the brightest flame in the pumpkin or he wouldn't have a sadistic murderer on the back of his head.

More than anything, he considered, however, was that he, the no-nonsense teacher who hated children (exactly why he was in a job dealing with them, he didn't know) had to be the one to go and get the girl from the chamber instead of the perpetrator of the incident. He would never use the word 'accident' – he knew the headmaster was to blame for all this.

On the plus side, however, when Snape had gone into the chamber to take her to the hospital wing, she was in a coma, for which he was glad. It meant he could move her without causing her pain.

He must have spent five hours over her bed helping Madam Pomfrey to clean her up. The matron, of course, had told him she could handle it alone but he made a point of expressing his view. "Give me an occupation or I shall run mad."

Naturally, of course, the school nurse was none-too-pleased by his persistence.

Whilst cleaning her wounds, Madam Pomfrey suddenly stopped and jumped. Yes, old wounds had been opened. It was her back, all covered in blood and old scars. She didn't know if it was injury going through the event or abuse suffered at the hands of another. Some strangely looked like belt buckle marks.

As the nurse left the scene to calm herself down, the teacher continued to wash the girl's hair. Yes, even Severus Snape was capable of washing hair.

He even dried it personally and brushed and combed it. If he was completely honest, he found it quite therapeutic and comforting, as though he wouldn't mind doing it for the rest of his life.

Section by section he brushed, mulling over recent events. He knew exactly where those marks came from all over her back, though – both places.

He was fully aware of the triple-headed beast guarding the stone; he'd been attacked by it himself and knew full well it was a killing machine.

If his calculations were correct, the girl was attacked by its giant paws and pushed down the trapdoor, as though the dog thought she deserved it. He had other ideas of the belt marks.

Had he not begged and pleaded with Dumbledore not to send her to the Dursleys? Hadn't he said "I'll take her; she'll want for nothing?" But, no, the manipulative old coot just had to dismiss the idea.

And what had his excuse been? "You would do it only for Lily, not for James."

At the moment, Severus Snape really hated that man – the headmaster, of course, not his childhood enemy. Thinking on it, James Potter did mature enough to save his life and, had he been allowed, taking the girl in to raise as his own would be a life debt owed.

But the headmaster just had to have it his way. He'd also chosen to ignore Hagrid's latest pet and it worried the potions master to think that he didn't care about the welfare of the students or his colleagues, letting the dragon run free and set everyone on fire.

Shaking himself from his unwanted thoughts, he looked down at the scarred girl before him. "I'll do it for you and you alone. Dumbledore doesn't deserve the favour," he sighed, as he then set the hairbrush on the cabinet beside the bed and left the hospital wing for his office to collect his thoughts before committing the deed.

He left the half-giant's home at eleven o'clock that evening, when all the students (prefects included) were in bed, with the dragon in a cage with a blanket adorning it. He didn't want any rule-breakers out after curfew seeing him carrying an illegal animal. Besides, even if they were stupid enough to defy school policy, what business was it of theirs anyway?

As he made his way up to the Astronomy Tower, he could think of nothing but the girl and danger she put herself in to save her fellow magicians.

As he pondered over recent events, he was glad he decided to remove the dragon from the premises.

He had been cruel to her and she had only asked a perfectly innocent question. She wasn't forcing him into it and made it perfectly clear it was his own choice whether he decided to or not.

Now he was pursuing his own choice and it was all because of her.

She'd never been cheeky or sarcastic to him, unlike so many of the other students, and he'd never heard her say a bad word of anyone.

And so, he met up with Charlie Weasley after twelve months since the dragon breeder graduated, and handed Norberta over to him.

"She will be taken good care of," Charlie had said. "And tell Fern I said hi."

Three days later, Fern roused from her coma with a rather sore neck and aching back.

Squinting in the light, she looked at the clock beside her. From the looks of it, it was thirty-two minutes past five and she could feel the sun peering through the clouds to warm her face.

As she moved to sit up, she smacked her head on the swivel-tray in front of her and it took her a few moments to regain her sight.

Before her eyes sat a mound of goodies and get well soon cards, one of which was signed by the first year Gryffindor boys, who, even though Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan didn't know her that well, knew Ron liked her so she therefore must be a person worth wishing the best for.

"Who sent all this?" she asked herself, picking through the mounds of sweets looking for any name to thank later.

Looking over to the bedside cabinet, she noticed a box wrapped in silver paper with a lemon-yellow ribbon tied around it. Attached was a note:

_The dragon has flown. It's the least I could do. Mr. Weasley says 'Hi.'  
>S.<em>

The way 'Hi' was written suggested to Fern that whoever wrote the note wasn't overly-keen on the familiar term.

But, who was 'S' and why was it the least they could do?

Gingerly she opened the present in her hand, as though afraid it might explode. Imagine her surprise then when she was met by the sight of a beautiful silver- no, white gold – bangle. Engraved upon it was '_Fernanda Mary Alice_.'

Exactly where the 'Potter' was, she didn't know but supposed maybe the extra six letters wouldn't fit. It was a lovely thought, though she didn't know who sent it.

Regardless, she put it on her left wrist straight away and admired it. 'Whoever you are, S, thank you. It's beautiful.'

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><p><strong>AN: Sorry for the late update and I know this chapter isn't the best but if I don't put something up, this story will never get finished.**


	26. O, the Humiliation

**O, THE HUMILIATION**

"Ah, good morning, Severus," the Headmaster greeted.

The Potions Master remained silent.

"Oh? Something the matter, dear boy?"

"What do you mean letting a twelve-year-old waltz through a death trap? You're very lucky she's not dead, because, believe me, if she was, your life wouldn't be worth living," the younger wizard snapped.

There wasn't much going for Albus Dumbledore at the moment where Severus Snape was concerned. If Snape was honest with himself, he'd half a mind to kill the man right now.

The girl was close to death; surely it was more than fitting for sacrificing the life of an old git for that of a young girl?

"Severus, something in my subconscious is telling me you're not very happy."

"Oh, you've figured that out then?" he replied, sardonically. "Aside from which, I highly doubt she'll be any better thought of for her gallantry."

The headmaster went quiet. More than likely, the younger wizard touched a nerve.

'Cat got your tongue?' Snape thought bitterly.

When the younger wizard went down to the chamber to pick the girl up and bring her to the Hospital Wing, there was no sign of the red stone and immediately he knew someone had taken it to allow his or her self the glory for the young Hufflepuff's bravery.

He wouldn't have been surprised if Dumbledore had done it himself, but surely the aging wizard wouldn't be that sick; to go after a rock and leave a girl for dead?

* * *

><p>It would seem that with the whole ordeal regarding the philosopher's stone had completely worn Fern out. She spent most of her time lying down, trying to read a book but nodding off every three pages. It was annoying her, not even able to get through a sixth of a chapter.<p>

One day she had a very special visitor and didn't realise until she woke up (still a bit dozy) who it was. What they brought with them soon woke her up.

"Meow," the boy said and, with one sight of what he held in his arms for her, she screamed and fell off the other side of the bed.

The large object he was holding he threw on the bed as he rushed around to check if she was alright.

"I'm sorry, Fern, really. I swear I didn't know you were gonna scream." The boy was so remorseful and apologetic.

"It's okay, Neville," she replied with a shaky smile. "Could have happened to anyone," and, slowly but surely, she managed to get to her feet and back into bed.

Then she looked at the object he'd brought for her. "Why a lion, Neville?" she was perplexed, but amused.

"Because, even though you aren't in Gryffindor, you're braver than the rest of us. Lions aren't scared of anything and you, clearly, aren't scared of self-sacrifice. It's not a very good trait to have, Fern and I'd rather you chicken out before you start instead of putting yourself in danger to save everyone else."

He then picked up the large, fluffy, plush lion and handed it to her. "I suppose you could say this lion defines you."

"Well, you could say it," she replied, unsure of herself, as per usual.

"Alright. This lion defines you," and he folded his arms in a 'so what' manner.

That comment and his own actions only prompted her to laugh, though the smile was soon taken off her face when a red-faced Madam Pomfrey entered.

"Are you alright, dear? I heard you scream." Then she turned to the boy beside her. "Do that again, Mr. Longbottom, I'll have you banned from visiting her again."

"Sorry, Madam Pomfrey," he responded with shame.

"Oh, please don't make him feel awful. He woke me up. I feel fresh as a daisy! If there's one thing I can say, it's that Neville Longbottom is better than any medicine in the world," and she gave him a large, heartfelt smile.

At that moment in time, however, Neville wanted Professor McGonagall to transfigure him into an ostrich so he could bury his head in the sand to hide his blush at his friend's compliment.

"Alright," the Healer said, and left, attempting to hide a smile at the boy's embarrassment. Secretly, she hoped something would happen between them in upcoming years.

For a few moments the two second-years remained in silence. Fern found it peaceful; Neville unnerving.

"Thank you for thinking of me, Neville. You're awfully sweet and I'm tempted to name this lion after you," she smiled, looking at the cuddly toy in her lap.

Then she stopped to think. She couldn't help but wonder.

"Neville?" she asked, gently.

"Yes." He was growing more nervous by the minute.

"You know this bangle on my wrist?" She showed him the elegant accessory, which he admired. "Do you know who sent it to me?"

As he read the three names engraved on it, he stopped to think. '_Fernanda Mary Alice_.'

His mother's name was Alice and, while he only saw her in St. Mungo's in a state he would never have wished for, he couldn't help but hope that in her younger days she was just like the friend sitting up in bed at the moment.

That said, he did remember his grandmother once telling him that his parents were friends with the Potters; a friendship that lasted even after death.

Frank and Alice may be insane now, but they often spoke about two people; Frank about a 'black-haired man with glasses' and Alice of a 'red-haired woman with pretty green eyes.' He did wonder if they were speaking about James and Lily Potter.

He didn't really want to dwell on it too much at the moment, however, and returned to Fern's question.

"Sorry, Fern. I've no idea. Did it have anything with it?" he asked for clues to discovering the generous individual.

"Only that note," she replied, indicating the small card on top of the box it came in. "I can safely say I've no idea who 'S' is. Whoever they are, though, they're very sweet."

Curious, he picked it up to read it. "Sweet," Neville said slowly and disbelievingly as he recognised the handwriting. "I don't want to burst your bubble, Fern, but I don't think the sender was that sweet."

"Oh, why?" she asked, with complete innocence.

"It's Professor Snape's handwriting," he told her, rather dejectedly.

"Oh," was all she said before she tilted her head to the side in thought. "That's nice. I'm going to go and thank him," and, without caring about the cold stone floor under her bare feet, skipped out of the Hospital Wing in just her lace-trimmed nightie and down to the dungeons, leaving behind a very confused Gryffindor and an irate nurse.

* * *

><p>Upon her arrival at the Potions classroom she didn't even stop to knock (as she would have done on a normal day, but today she was full of beans) and threw the door open, completely unaware of the seventh-year N.E.W.T. class currently taking place.<p>

"Thank you so much, Professor!" she exclaimed with glee and she ran over to him to kiss him repeatedly on the cheek. "I've always known you're a lovely man!"

She stopped after about a minute and turned to exit. "Byyyeeeee!" she sang and left the classroom with a definite spring in her step.

Too many peppermint toads, he concluded, without hesitation. Perhaps if he'd been in the classroom on his own it would be a bit more amusing but full of teenagers; not a cat in hell's chance.

Regardless, Snape just stood there with an embarrassed scowl on his face, glaring at any student who dared to laugh.

His efforts went unrewarded as a great deal of snickering occurred between the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws.

The Slytherins, evidently, were not amused by the girl's antics, and glared her out of the room (at least they would have done if she'd hung around long enough and been depressed.)

"Twenty points from any student who dares say a word," he warned, though any authority he had with a class of eighteen-year-olds (or soon-to-be) had just gone out of the door with the bubbly little Hufflepuff.

His last thoughts were '_What have you been feeding her, Poppy?_'

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><p><strong>AN: Okay, everybody. I thought I'd try and add some humour in here. This is the best I can think of at this moment in time, so I'm hoping it pays off.<strong>

**Anyway, at least I've tried, considering I had to keep rewriting this (three times) after about 500 words because I couldn't follow it up.**

**Still, should keep you busy until the next update. Thanks for reading.**


	27. Someone Who Cares

**SOMEONE WHO CARES**

Nobody was talking to Fern after her indiscretion with a certain Professor. Oh, they were gladly talking _about_ her, saying things behind her back, though they never had the guts to tell her to her face.

She knew she was in the wrong, but she hadn't realised what she'd done at the time. All she wanted to do was apologise, but she wasn't most observant student in Hogwarts and neglected the class Professor Snape was teaching when she barged in to show her sincere gratitude.

Even Neville wasn't talking to her, though she had suspected that was due to his fear of Professor Snape.

Any other students she had considered her friends had scoffed, shoved their noses in the air and turned their backs on her at her slightest utterance of "Hi." Sadly, Maxine, who she thought was her best friend, was the worst one.

So she spent most of her time alone nowadays. With no one to talk to, she miserably sat in the library studying for her exams, though struggled in concentrating on a single paragraph for long, unable to think of anything other than her current predicament.

She at least had to try and apologise to Professor Snape and decided the following Saturday to visit him in his office.

With great caution, she knocked on the door.

"Enter," Professor Snape responded in his usual monotone.

She did so, though not without first taking a deep breath, as if going there to be hanged.

"I'm sorry, Professor," was all she could say, because she went deathly pale, feeling very nauseous.

"You should know better than to pounce on unsuspecting teachers, Potter; especially when they have a class in. You wonder why people aren't talking to you," he remarked, sardonically.

"I know why they aren't talking to me, Professor. It's no less than I deserve. Anyway, I just came here to say I'm sorry for what I did and it won't happen again. I imagine my parents are rolling in their graves. If they were alive to see it, they'd drop dead of shame," she said, reciting a family member's words off by heart. Merlin knew, she'd heard it often enough.

The teacher's expression changed. He could hardly believe his ears. Had she just said what he thought she had.

"Where did you get those words from? That Aunt of yours, I suppose," he seethed with resentment.

Fern remained silent.

"You did, didn't you? I told Dumbledore not to send you there, but, no, he wouldn't listen; just had to have it his way."

She didn't want to look at him and slowly shrank away from his desk.

"Don't go," he said, softly, and she stopped. Slowly, he approached her. "I'd have thought you knew enough to not listen to others who are so plainly jealous of you."

"I can't do anything right," she almost whispered, though he still heard.

"You can. I must say," although he honestly hated to admit it, "that you are the best second-year potioneer I have."

"I wasn't meaning academically," she replied with the same quiet voice, wringing her hands.

"Well then you do something right whenever you apologise to someone. That must count for something?" Snape was beginning to doubt even himself now.

"No. But when you hear something enough times, you always believe it."

"Well, you shouldn't. Your Aunt is a very jealous muggle – jealous of your mother, jealous of you," but before he could finish, she interrupted, understanding something she hadn't before realised.

"How do you know?" she asked, now rather scared indeed.

"I grew up on the same street; played at the same park. I'm going to tell you something, Miss Potter, that I'd rather never left this room," he said, as a warning.

"I promise I won't tell." As she said this, she raised her eyes to look him straight in the eyes.

Straight into those emerald eyes he remembered from so many years ago, they told him she was nothing but completely honest.

He then, gently grabbed her hand, leaving her not too far short of utter bafflement and led her through the door fifteen yards from his desk to his quarters.

As he closed the door behind them, she took in her surroundings.

Much like the man himself, the room was dark and mysterious. The walls were a dark slate grey, there was a mahogany couch beside a shiny black table on which stood a lamp she could only guessed he used for reading to wind down after the stress he most likely received from grading too many papers written by 'dunderheads' as he would likely put it.

She also noticed he had a lovely view on the other side of the room with several large panels of glass. Behind them was the Black Lake and she watched all the little fish swimming past her eyes.

Not all the creatures were quite so cute, however, and she jumped back as several ugly beings came into view, each with worm-like hair, sharp fangs bared to attack and holding tridents.

As she hastily backed away from them, in the hope they, too, would retreat, both teacher and student were in for a surprise when she inadvertently fell into him with such force that he stumbled back, fell and she landed on top of him.

Turning to look at him, she scrambled to her feet and offered him a hand up.

"I am sorry, Professor," she said.

"Grindylows are anything but admirable creatures," he replied, surprising himself when he took the girl's hand and she lifted him to his feet. "You should be very lucky the glass is indestructible. Shatter-proof charms are very useful; remember that."

"Oh, I shouldn't think I'm likely to forget it, Professor," she laughed nervously.

"Anyway, back to what you're here for, please take a seat," he said, as he held out his hand in the general direction of the sofa.

She made her way over to the desired furniture and tentatively sat on the very edge. He then took a seat next to her, though leant back, glad of the chance to sit down comfortably.

"I don't bite," he said, though it did anything but comfort her and she remained rigid on the end seam of the cushion. "You'll fall off, you know."

Fern didn't care. She'd had worse happen to her than falling off an old sofa.

"Be it on your own head," he said, nonchalantly. "I grew up with your mother. When I say that, she was my first friend. We were both nine at the time. She had a flower in her hand and was opening and closing it with magic, albeit accidental. Your Aunt was none-too-pleased, yelling at her to stop."

"I don't blame her," the Hufflepuff admitted, causing Professor Snape to gape open-mouthed at her words. She looked to him. "Stop catching flies, Professor," and he shut his mouth immediately.

"What do you mean you don't blame her?" he asked, only slightly recovering from his shock.

"I mean that if I saw someone doing it, I'd probably feel the same. Aunt Petunia was probably worried about my Mum and that's why it upset her."

This was a thought he had to ponder for a moment. He'd never thought of it that way; only that Petunia was outright jealous of magic which was why she hated it.

"I don't blame her for anything, Professor. Everybody has their own fears and maybe she was scared that magic would ruin my mother's life." She stopped for a moment, trying not to cry. "In the end, it did and because of me she died. I'm the one Aunt Petunia should despise," she unwittingly yelled, getting to her feet and moving away from her Professor, tears running down her face.

It was time for Severus Snape to put away his own jealousy and hatred for the girl and to face up to his demons and what he created.

Rising from his own position, he followed his student's path and stood behind her. "It's not your fault. Your parents died because of me and my own selfishness. Considering where we are and how it's come about, it's probably the best time for confessions, no matter how big." He sighed. He did have some very big things he needed to declare.

"I don't want to hear them," the girl sobbed, and all he could think to do was hold her to him while she cried.

"I'm telling you whether you like it or not. You're going to find out anyway and I'd sooner you knew now rather than later. Come on," he coaxed, gently pushed her away and led her back to the sofa. "We're gonna need them," he said, more so to himself, as he conjured a box of tissues on the coffee table Fern hadn't noticed when she first came in.

He readjusted himself so he was looking at her.

"Anyway, I was the one to tell your mother she was a witch. At first she hadn't believed me and thought I was insulting her but I showed her, though admittedly I set out to hurt her sister, but she did believe it. Not long after that we became friends," he told her, frankly.

"Why did you want to hurt Aunt Petunia? She never did anything to you," Fern asked, disbelievingly.

"Would it sound any better if I told you she called the pair of us freaks?" he asked, in the hope the reason for his childhood actions were understandable.

"NO!" she yelled. "You don't attack someone for calling you names. It's not her fault; my mother was obviously showing off so she was only saying how she felt," she defended the woman, in spite of the misery she'd endured at her hand, as she turned away from the Potions Master. For what he'd done, she didn't want to look at him.

Severus Snape was certainly seeing a different side to the girl now. Why did she always defend others? If someone insulted her, no matter how awful, she turned the other cheek, but when someone else was involved she was the first to fight for them.

He knew the abuse the girl had suffered at her Aunt's hand, from what Professor McGonagall had said in the staff room one day that he couldn't help overhearing.

"Why do you defend her?" he asked.

"She isn't here to defend herself," she replied, breaking off into another fit of sobs. "I told you I didn't want to hear it."

He knew she was right. He wasn't the most tactful of people and when he had a gripe with someone, he made sure it was known. The girl before him was sensitive; he knew that and, thinking on it, he should have paid attention.

"I'm sorry," he said, reaching a hand out to touch her arm, but she shrugged him off.

"Leave me alone," she wept.

But he couldn't. He didn't want to leave her crying alone. He sidled towards her, handing out the box of tissues as he went, but she didn't budge. He set them back on the table.

"Come here," he said, and pulled her towards him. In spite of the rules about teachers and students, he had to do something and nobody would have to know unless there was a blabbermouth in the room. "I won't talk about it again."

"It isn't just that," she sobbed.

"Your so-called friends." He knew exactly what was going on around the school. "Believe me, if they don't want to know you, they aren't your friends. Your mother snubbed me, but I don't blame her. It was my fault."

No sooner were the words out of his mouth, he regretted it. He told her he wouldn't talk about it again.

"Shut up," she tried to yell, but it only came out as a choked sob.

He realised then that she didn't want to talk about her mother. Perhaps it was the fact that she never really knew her.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he whispered, tenderly running his fingers through her hair before leaning forward and grabbing a few tissues, wiping all the tears from her eyes and cheeks.

"I'm sorry I told you to shut up," she said, which made him laugh, not something Severus Snape did often.

"It lost its sting, Miss Potter. It's difficult to shout when you can't talk."

They just sat there like that for the next ten minutes, before Fern realised where she was and what she was doing, as she shot up, hastily wiped her eyes and turned to look him in the eyes.

"I'm really sorry, Professor," she sniffled. "I only came here in the first place to apologise for what I did the other day. And you must think I'm nothing but a baby for crying like this." She was certainly annoyed with herself.

"Everybody gets down once in a while; that's just the way it is."

His eyes never left her as she exited in silence.

"Miss Potter," he called and she stopped. "If you have any problems, just come to me. Don't worry yourself about it."

She then continued on her way and all he could think of was how much of a fool he'd been in loathing her.

"I can't hate you," he said, laughing slightly, before he once again turned sombre. "I reckon all you want now is your mother."

He knew all about wanting your mother but she'd died years ago and they never found the body. The thought of it just made his stomach turn. He was, however, glad that Lily was at rest. She had a grave where she was buried with her husband. As much as he and James Potter hated each other, they had more in common than they thought: they both loved Lily and they both loved Fernanda.

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><p><strong>AN: Really wanted to get something up, but this one's probably all over the place as well. Still, it's better than nothing, right?**


	28. A Mouse No More

**A MOUSE NO MORE**

Many students hadn't had enough time to study for the exams, Fern included. Not only had she been incapacitated in the Hospital Wing, in the arms of an unexpected individual and with many things going through her mind, she knew she was going to fail miserably.

The first exam was History of Magic. In a way she was glad; she wasn't the most practically-minded person and dreaded what would happen in any subject that involved using a wand.

Many of her classmates usually dozed off in those lessons or wrote notes, made them into paper aeroplanes and threw them across the room to each other. Professor Binns wasn't the most observant teacher, so anything the students did in his classes just went completely over his head – literally.

The History of Magic exam paper, requested students to write three essays on the International Warlock Convention of 1289, Goblin Rights and a 'brief' history of Hogwarts itself from its beginnings in 982 A.D. to present day. Fern wasn't so sure about the last one – a millennium was very hard to cover in only three feet of parchment.

The Herbology exam had the students potting mandrakes, which Fern wasn't the best at. She had missed that lesson, having been knocked out by the troll, but she tried her best, despite wishing she was deaf to drown out their screams.

A few days had passed without exams, to allow the students to get any last-minute revision in. Defence Against the Dark Arts was a bit of a joke, she heard some Slytherins say after the test. The test was just as ridiculous as the teacher. No one had really liked Professor Quirrell, even Fern, considering nearly being killed a few weeks before by the now deceased wizard in question.

Charms and Transfiguration, she was surprised by. She didn't seem to have much of an issue with her wand-work as she'd expected and everything seemed to flow.

Astronomy, as her favourite subject, she had no problem whatsoever with. Essays were involved where students were asked to discuss how they can tell the age of certain stars, supernovae and nebulae. A star chart was also involved, where they would have to distinguish between different constellations.

The last exam was Potions, which she was really not looking forward to.

Professor Snape had gone so far as to compliment her on her ability. She certainly didn't want to disappoint him and shame herself in the process.

For the exam, the students had to produce a swelling solution and write a foot-long essay on its uses and dangers. Still, she tried as hard as she could and that, at least, had to count for something.

After the exams were all finished, which Fern was glad of, all second-year students were handed a list of elective subjects for the next term. They had to choose a minimum of two and Fern didn't really know what to do. She eventually decided, though, by process of elimination.

Having been raised in that world, she thought Muggle Studies was pretty pointless. She knew how electricity worked, how Muggles fixed leaking pipes, how they used to burn individuals suspected of witchcraft at the stake. She didn't really want any reminders of the world she left behind when Professor McGonagall took her from the Dursleys.

She wasn't too sure of Divination. Considering recent occurrences in the castle, she wasn't sure she wanted to know what the future held.

Arithmancy was a problem. She liked numbers, but the fact that they could be used to predict the future made her feel uneasy, so she had two choices.

She did like the sound of Ancient Runes, however, and after reading what the class offered, she returned to the thought of Arithmancy. Maybe the two subjects were somehow linked, so it was probably a good idea to do both. She ticked them on the list.

She was happy to see Care of Magical Creatures on the list, for she loved animals in general. It would certainly be interesting to learn more about them; the biology, what they contribute...

Having her three desired subjects, she handed her form to Professor Sprout and decided to take some of her free time to practice her French horn.

She had been doing well with the flute and was close to going for her Grade Four examination. Her violin skills weren't too bad, though the finger positions were very precise and it did take her a while to recognise the specific amount of pressure required for each string – the thicker the string, the more weight with the bow.

So she opted to try and up her brass skills, though not without difficulty.

The French horn was said to be the hardest instrument to learn. With such a small mouthpiece and the harmonics very close together, she certainly thought it a challenge.

The best way for her to practice, she had decided, was with her scales and arpeggios.

She played in a deserted third-floor classroom.

For half an hour she was alone, until she received a rather unexpected visitor.

"You're good," the boy said, nervously, causing Fern to nearly drop her instrument. She was just glad she had some support with her hand in the bell that she didn't drop it.

"Neville, you startled me," Fern gasped, almost jumping a foot in the air.

"Sorry. I came to apologise for avoiding you." Shame filled his voice.

"You don't have to apologise to me; it's my fault. I acted in haste and I admit I shouldn't have done it, but I've apologised to Professor Snape now. It's all water under the bridge and if I could, I wouldn't even want to change the past. It's amazing how things can really pan out," she added, dreamily, her eyes very thoughtful.

Neville turned slightly pink. "W-Well… er… erm… yeah," he stuttered, awkwardly.

Fern, meanwhile, snapped herself from her thoughts. "I understand, Neville. I know he isn't the easiest person to get along with, but he's really quite nice when you get to know him. Trust me, I know."

Quite frankly, Neville didn't want to know what had happened; he was scared stiff of the Potions Master and knew he probably always would be.

"I could put in a good word for you, Neville; he won't bother you. With your talent in herbology, I'm sure he'd welcome you."

"There's a big difference between pruning a bush and stirring a cauldron," Neville replied, growing evermore nervous by the second. Something about his Hufflepuff friend made him want to run in the opposite direction.

"And suppose that bush ended up in the cauldron? When you think about it, those two subjects go well together… like we do. I'm hopeless with plants, but you're brilliant; I can mix and alright potion and you just need a bit of training. Neville, I'll help you with potions if you help me with Herbology?"

Tucking her French horn under her left arm, she held out her right to make a deal.

Warily, Neville looked at her offered hand, before tentatively shaking, as though afraid she was a ticking time bomb ready to explode if he held onto her for too long.

"Don't worry about Professor Snape, Neville; he's a pussycat really. Please don't tell Professor McGonagall I said that. She'll have my guts for garters," she giggled.

That giggle caused the boy to snatch his hand from hers, wiping the smile off her face.

"I'm sorry," Fern said, taken aback.

"It's not you," Neville said, rather hastily.

Sighing a heavy sigh, he spoke again. "Do you mind if I call you Alice?"

That puzzled her to no end. "Why?"

"Well, my Mum's called Alice. I don't really know that much about her myself, but from what I've been told, she was a lot like you are. I just can't help but be think about her when I talk to you."

"Okay. Call me what you will; I don't mind." Her smile had returned.

"A-A-Alice it is then," he said, apprehensively. True, Fern may be a lot like his mother used to be, but, if he was perfectly honest, he found her far more scary than even You-Know-Who, which was certainly saying something.

* * *

><p>A few days later, and everybody was getting ready to go home for the summer holidays.<p>

Where many would start packing at the last minute, as in the morning of the trip home, Fern spent her afternoon packing her things, before the Leaving Feast was to take place.

She made sure to leave some clothes out for the morning and, considering that the barrier led to King's Cross, made sure they were muggle clothes. She didn't want to look to conspicuous and leave the other world wondering what she was playing at. It was just a simple long-sleeved purple t-shirt and a pair of denim dungarees. She decided to opt for pigtails in the morning, so left out two purple ribbons. So what, if she looked like a hillbilly?

Soon enough, it was time to attend the Leaving Feast and, as if there weren't enough people not talking to her now, there certainly would be when the event was over, though, at the time, she wasn't to know that.

Fern sat, pushing her dinner around her plate. Her housemates were too busy gossiping about her to their friends to pay any attention to how she may have felt and the only person who was actually talking to her was at another table. So, all in all, Fern had a very quiet dinner.

Once all the tables had been cleared of empty plates (and one remarkably full one from the Hufflepuff table) Dumbledore rose to make an announcement.

Fern knew from the banners above the house tables that Slytherin had won the house cup before he spoke. It seemed, however, no one else had, for they were all too busy talking to their friends to pay any attention to their surroundings.

"It is time now for the house cup to be awarded," the Headmaster said, as the sounds of students were quieted. "The points are as follows. In fourth place, Hufflepuff with two-hundred-and-ninety-three points."

Unfortunately for Fern, the eyes of her house table were all glaring at her, as if to say "It's your fault."

"In third place," Dumbledore continued, "Gryffindor with three-hundred-and-twelve points. Ravenclaw in second place with four-hundred-and-twenty-six points and so that leaves the house cup to Slytherin, with four-hundred-and-seventy-two points."

Loud cheers erupted from the table in question, much to an uproar from the other three, though Fern stayed silent.

"Yes, yes. Well done Slytherin, well done Slytherin. However," he added, after a short pause, "recent events must be taken into account."

Professor Snape looked very interested at this.

"And so I must award, for such noble traits as selflessness, courage, heart and logic, two-hundred points to Miss Fernanda Potter."

The Great Hall fell deadly silent and Fern suddenly felt very sick.

"Assuming that my calculations are correct, I believe a change of decoration is in order." That said, Dumbledore clapped his hands and the green and silver Slytherin banners changed to the badger-embroidered yellow and black of Hufflepuff. "Hufflepuff wins the house cup!" he shouted, jovially.

The Slytherins all looked very put-out and were glaring daggers at the girl, who wanted the ground to swallow her hole.

The Hufflepuffs, meanwhile, were now cheering and hugging each other with no thought to the girl who had given them their glory.

Slowly, Fern rose from her seat and, with her own footsteps pounding in her ears, approached the teachers' table.

"Congratulations, dear girl," Dumbledore praised. "The first time Hufflepuff has won since 1917, as I am acutely aware of. I was there. You've done your several-times great-Grandmother proud."

Fern didn't know she was related to the wonderful Helga Hufflepuff, but she didn't have time to think on it.

"I can't accept the house cup, Professor." She spoke so quietly, but the Great Hall, yet again, fell silent. "I broke the rules. I defied you for the glory."

"We both know that isn't true, dear girl." Dumbledore's tone was soft and kind. "You were simply trying to stop many innocent people dying unnecessarily. That isn't selfishness."

"But I don't deserve anything for breaking the rules," Fern said, with defiance. This was a side he Headmaster hadn't been aware of. "Slytherin played the game fair and square. I think it only right they should receive the house cup. I cheated and I want to withdraw those points you've just given me."

The individual most in shock was Professor Snape. He never expected that. Even Lily would never have done that.

"I don't care what people think of me now, Professor. I'm past caring, but it's only fair and just that the cup goes to the most deserving house." Then, turning to face her schoolmates, she shouted across the hall, "Slytherin wins the house cup!"

It didn't really matter anyway. It was just a lump of metal with a name and year engraved on it.

The Hufflepuffs' glares returned to Fern and all began to shout things out at her.

"Sling your hook!"

"Traitor!"

"Blackleg!"

Once at the foot of the Great Hall, just before she opened the door to leave, she spoke once more.

"I'm going to bed," and she left.

Professor Snape had to force back a smile. She was certainly changing from the frightened little girl he once knew. She was, dare he say it, getting more like her mother. Lily never let anyone bother her and he was glad it was rubbing off on her daughter.

He knew she'd stay kind and generous and really hoped she would continue to give such nonchalant, devil-may-care information as she just had done. 'Thank Merlin for puberty', he thought. He'd just made friends with her a few weeks earlier and was surprisingly looking forward to having playful arguments.

Neville Longbottom, meanwhile, was grinning stupidly. His eyes never left her person. "I love you, Alice," he said.

Fern really didn't care what people thought of her anymore. She'd cared too long and, after what had happened down in that chamber, nothing and no one surprised her anymore.

"I don't think many people will be talking to me in September," she said to herself as she wended her way to her common room. "But I don't care."

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><p><strong>AN: Really sorry for the late update. There are of course two legitimate reasons:**

**1) Writer's block**

**2) I've been in and out of hospital. I've been poked, prodded and penetrated.**

**That may even be a good saying to use a little later on.**

**I am hoping updates will become more frequent and also hope I can get up another chapter of "Luck of the Draw" once I've gotten over my writer's block.**


	29. Teacher's Pet

**A/N: Thanks for the nice reviews. They are greatly appreciated and inspire me to write more.**

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><p><span><strong>TEACHER'S PET<strong>

Fern didn't get any rest that night.

She spent two hours tossing and turning, aggravating her feline companion who liked to sleep at the foot of her bed with all her movement.

Her dorm mates also snapped at her to "shut up making your bed creak," which, if Fern hadn't been so self-conscious at what she'd done earlier that night, might have made her laugh.

In the end she gave up and decided to go for a walk around the castle without her invisibility cloak. She really couldn't care less if she got expelled; in her mind she was the biggest failure of all. She had failed her parents by allowing them to die while she survived, she had failed her relatives by being forced on them so they'd had to take her in and feed her, she'd failed Professor McGonagall because as soon as she was of Hogwarts age, she'd had to take her in and Simon because he was her only living relative so he'd had no choice. Now she'd let her House down, her Head of House down, her Founder down, Her School down. Hogwarts was the balloon, she was the drawing pin.

* * *

><p>Fern had spent ages wandering around aimlessly just thinking of how much of a disappointment she was to society, with no real thought of where she was heading.<p>

Before she knew where she was, she stood before a familiar door in a familiar corridor. Now she wished she brought some treats with her.

Quietly as she could, she slowly lifted the latch, pushed the door open and peered inside.

"Where's my favourite boy?" she whispered, softly, careful not to startle the beast of a dog. Nothing; not a snore.

Pushing the door open further, she stepped inside. He wasn't there. She couldn't even call him by name, for she didn't know it.

Sadly, she looked around the small room that was once his home.

In the far corner sat a violin on a stand. What was this? Another enchanted room? Hogwarts was certainly full of surprises.

Still, a night of insomnia was a good night to practice one's musical skills. Sensing she was completely alone, she went to play the instrument. Not only could she both think and relax, she could also being doing something productive in the process.

She wasn't along for long however and generated company in the last person she wanted to see at that particular moment, though her reaction was severely delayed through distraction and fatigue.

At first she hadn't heard the dulcet tone of the other stringed instrument joining her soon after she started, too lost in her own thoughts.

It was only when she held the final note that she realised the other instrument continued to play others to finish the duet she hadn't realised she had been playing with this unknown musician.

She was both surprised and confused and slowly removed the violin from her shoulder to turn and look to her harmonious partner. She almost dropped the instrument but caught it in time. "Professor!" she exclaimed, startled.

"You didn't know," he smiled, mischievously. "My wooden friend," he announced.

It was very strange to Fern. Although she had hardly noticed he was there playing, she had still heard him. "You play so beautifully," she said.

"Thank you. You seem to be coming on quite well yourself," he complimented, to which Fern immediately shook her head in a dismissive manner.

"No I'm not, Sir, I'm awful. I either put too much rosin on my bow or not enough, either too much pressure on the string or not enough or I don't have my bow straight on the string so it squeaks no matter how I play," she babbled on.

"Miss Potter," he said, catching her attention. She stopped talking. "Shut up."

Then she looked guilty. "Sorry."

"It's alright," he chuckled.

Fern was one of the few people in the world who could say they'd ever seen Severus Snape smile.

"It's just practice," he said. "But don't practice too much. That's when you start to hate it. I used to find that if you left it a few days, you noticed improvement. It sounds odd, but believe me, it works."

She already knew that from personal experience, but she never said anything.

"Anyway," he said, changing the subject, "what brings you here after hours? I could easily tell Professor Dumbledore; I'm sure he'd be happy to hear of this little escapade," he threatened, though he was secretly teasing, just to see if he could get her to react. He was disappointed when his plan fell flat.

"My bed was creaking," she said, monotone that could give her current companion a run for his money.

He had to bite his lip to keep himself from laughing.

"The girls kept telling me to shut up, so I came down here."

"I don't imagine to sleep," he said, recovering.

"Nah," she replied, plonking herself on the cold stone floor trying to get comfortable, which was no easy feat. "I was annoying my cat anyway. Came down to see the dog."

He could see it coming.

"This wouldn't, perchance, be the hound from hell?"

Quizzically, her eyes rose to look at him. "Yes? How did you know?"

She knew enough about what the dog had been protecting to openly talk about what he'd been doing at Hogwarts all year as he carefully placed the cello back on its own stand along with its bow and went to sit opposite Fern on the cold stone floor, again trying to get comfy.

"I know he nearly tore my leg off," Snape informed the girl adorned only in her frilly ribboned nightie which covered everything above the elbow and below the shin.

"He never touched me," Fern smiled, playfully.

So she was turning this into a game was she? Well, Severus would just see about that.

"I always had to play the cello for him or put a spell on another instrument to make him sleep," he said.

"Speak softly and give a hug," she challenged again, the silly grin still on her face.

A scowl rose onto his face. Was it his fury at the girl or the discomfort of the floor?

"The beast had three heads!" he argued.

"Plenty of treats for all," she responded in a sing-song voice.

"He scratched your back!"

"I scratched his ears."

He couldn't win this fight. He could very easily say the beast nearly mauled her to death and she wouldn't bat an eyelid. What did he have to do or was she so strange that she forgave him for everything simply because he was what Snape would call a 'dumb animal?'

"The only problem I have is that I still don't know his name," she said.

"Fluffy," he said, increasingly agitated.

"How appropriate," she smiled. "Aside from you, he's the biggest softie I know," she said.

Thank Merlin she'd only said that to him in this tiny room. If she'd announced that at breakfast in the Great Hall, he'd never live it down, though it would give everybody else a good laugh.

The more he spoke to Fern, however, the more he grew to like her, in spite of himself.

Neither of them would have been able to sleep that night so Snape gave in, conjured a couch and they both just spent the remainder of the night talking between themselves.

For the most part they spoke about music, as they both expressed a passion for it, which did end in the teacher giving the student a few small tips on bowing techniques, something Fern's own teacher never taught her and which she actually got paid for. Fern offered Snape money for the few helpful tips but he politely declined.

They spoke of loves and hates and, surprisingly, Fern discovered her teacher, although he hated children, he actually did love animals. He just wasn't very keen on three-headed dogs.

Then he wound up asking Fern if she had any idea what she might want to do when she got older. Her first answer was "Defeat Voldemort," to which he winced, before she responded a second time with "Marry the man of my dreams, have loads of children, more pets than I can shake a stick at and become an astronomer."

She may seem reserved and shy, but, beneath the surface, she was actually quite ambitious. Professor Snape thought that was probably quite a good thing.

When he asked her about potions, however, she was unsure. He seemed to think she had hidden potential in the subject, but her interests lay elsewhere, which he thought was a great waste. Still, he secretly vowed to let her shine and help her showcase her talents no matter how infuriating it could be for him if she refused to cooperate, though, considering her disposition, he doubted he'd have that trouble.

Yes, Fernanda Potter could quickly become the right little Teacher's Pet.

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><p><strong>AN: Sorry for not updating since last June, but in June and July I'd had music exams and the day after my exams my eye problems started and I'm been in an out of hospitals and doctors surgeries ever since. I've had lumbar punctures, brain scans, eye tests galore due to intracranial hypertension and have been diagnosed as having chronic migraine. I've been off work for five months with all these issues.**

**Another reason for this chapter not being updated is writer's block and, no joke, this chapter must have been re-written about 30 times. SERIOUSLY!**

**On the plus side, from my music exams I had in July (the day before the visual disturbance and unbearable headaches began) I passed them both with flying colours and my Diploma one I passed with Honours, making my 2****nd**** out of 81 people in the County. I'm happy being second best.**


	30. The True Value of Friendship

**THE TRUE VALUE OF FRIENDSHIP**

As dawn's early light began to break in through the tiny gap in the windows and realising they were both rather hungry, Professor Snape treated both himself and his student to an early breakfast of lemon pancakes. He had them plain, but allowed a drizzle of maple of syrup to decorate his breakfast companion's.

Neither of them had any sleep that night but they'd had plenty to occupy their time, from forming their own miniature string orchestra to finding plenty to talk about. The conversation didn't seem to fade much; there was always a new topic to occupy the other's attention. It was surprising how they managed to get along, considering how different they were as individuals.

At six o'clock, they parted ways prepare to leave for the summer holidays.

"You know, Professor," Fern said, sheepishly. "I really enjoyed last night. It's nice having someone to talk to…" she trailed off.

He knew what she was thinking.

"You mean someone who doesn't reject for one incident?" he finished. "I know what rejection's like, Fernanda," he informed her. "You haven't let anyone down; they simply refuse to understand that what you did was because you felt you didn't deserve it. Hufflepuffs were intended to value fair play and, clearly, you are the most worthy Hufflepuff there's ever been."

Fern could scarcely believe her ears and stood agape at his words.

Placing one hand on the top of her head, he shut her mouth with his other. "Stop catching flies," he suggested before standing back.

Fern sighed and bowed her head. Mumbling she spoke, inaudibly.

"Sorry? I didn't catch that," he asked politely.

"I'm going to miss you," she repeated, honestly.

Now it was his turn to stand with his mouth wide open. She did to him what he'd done to her. "Stop catching flies," she copied.

He never said it aloud but he'd actually miss her too.

Fern moved towards the door, but stopped just before opening it in case Filch was out early and ready to catch her. She actually cared if she got expelled now.

"Thanks for the pancakes, Professor," she smiled to her teacher, "and I hope you have a wonderful summer. Bye." With that, she creaked the door open slightly, peered her head through, looked right and left, tiptoed out of the room, exited the corridor and returned to her dormitory where she proceeded to get washed and dressed ready to catch the train at eleven o'clock to take her to King's Cross Station where Simon would be waiting to pick her up.

But Fern had a problem. The House of Hufflepuff.

As she sat on her bed, all dressed up and fed with nowhere to go at half-past-six and her dorm-mates ready to get up she knew exactly what was coming.

To take her mind off it, she distracted herself with a book on astronomy. It was fascinating enough but as soon as they woke up one-by-one her attention was lost as they began to verbally tear her to pieces.

To try and clear her head a bit, she took her book downstairs, her faithful feline friend following her every move (though he really wanted his fishy breakfast, so he was rather glad she'd delved into her trunk to get his food bowl and a pouch of cat food for his breakfast first) as she went into the Common Room.

She had peace for an hour as her fellow Hufflepuffs began to descend the stairs from their dormitories with intent of going for their breakfast and, rather sadly, they wouldn't turn a blind eye to Fern's presence and began calling her for everything with no consideration for how it made her feel.

Once each individual student was satisfied with how they'd treated her, they stalked off to breakfast talking loudly to one another about how she'd betrayed Helga Hufflepuff.

By eight o'clock every Hufflepuff student apart from Fern was in the Great Hall for breakfast and she had time to cry to herself. She didn't want to and she tried not to but she couldn't help it and she soon found herself back in her dormitory lying on her bed crying into her pillow.

* * *

><p>In the Great Hall, there was a lot of talk at the Gryffindor table and Neville was very concerned about Fern. Ron, Hermione and the twins were also worried, but Percy was very smug.<p>

"She's only got herself to blame," he snapped.

"She did what she thought was right," Neville defended, suddenly getting protective. He was normally the last student to ever stand up for anyone, but when anyone said a word against Fern he was ready to bite their head off.

"Honesty is the best policy," Hermione added. It was obvious whose side she was on. "Fern's the most honest person I know."

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "So her own House doesn't want her. So what? We do."

"You speak for yourself!" Percy exclaimed, outraged.

"HEY!" the twins shouted, ready to start a fight with their bigoted brother.

From opposite sides of the Hall, two other students had clearly heard the kerfuffle between students and were keen to investigate as they approached.

"Is this a personal slanging match or can anyone join in?" the Slytherin boy questioned, an innocent smile on his face.

Percy glared at the unwanted arrival. "There's no place for Slytherins at this table, Pucey," he spat.

"I'm surprised there's room for your head," Fern's Ravenclaw friend Yvonne Bampton spat at Percy in the same tone.

Both twins immediately stood up and took each of Yvonne's hands, began kissing them and bowing to her. "We are not worthy to kiss your boots, my lady," they said in unison. "Hail, Lady Bampton!"

"Gerroff!" Yvonne shook the twins off. "If you can't play nicely, you can go and stand in the corner, the pair of ya," she joked.

Adrian decided to get to the cause of the commotion. "Joking aside, what was the reason for the 'HEY!' that we heard?"

"Ask him," Ron snapped, pointing his finger at Percy. "He's the one with the problem; not Fern."

"Oh, so it's about Fern? The sweet girl with the long hair? The one I call Rapunzel? Yeah." He paused. "I'm not surprised she isn't down here this morning. I don't imagine her housemates have been very kind to her. I'll admit, I think she generally did the right thing. I'm not saying that just because I'm in Slytherin," he quickly defended. Adrian Pucey was many things, but he wasn't a liar.

Neville had been lost in his thoughts for a while and he was usually more nervous than impatient but he was getting rather agitated now. "I wish she'd come down," he said. He was really sweet on her.

She didn't.

* * *

><p>When all the other students were hanging out together while they were waiting to go to Hogsmeade to catch the Hogwarts Express to King's Cross, Fern was stuck in her dormitory with only her cat for company. She wasn't complaining that she had Socks but she felt he was her only friend. She had no idea that in the Transfiguration courtyard, there were five Gryffindors, a Ravenclaw and a Slytherin talking about her, all wanting her to be part of their mismatched circle of friends.<p>

"It's funny really," Yvonne said. "She was the one that united the four Houses, and yet…" she stopped.

Adrian sighed. "She lost her own in the process," he finished for her.

"What is it McGonagall says?" Fred asked.

"'While you're here, your House will be like your family,'" George quoted in his Head of House's Scottish accent.

"Well, that's not true, for a start," Yvonne scoffed. "Wonder who came up with that old chestnut."

"Doesn't matter," Hermione said, confidently. "She's got family in Ravenclaw, Slytherin and Gryffindor now. She doesn't need them."

"Let's go and find her," Neville said.

"YEAH!" Ron exclaimed, more excited than he'd ever been in his life and he pushed his way to the front making a run for it, while everyone else stayed put. He stopped in his tracks. He turned to ask the obvious question. "Well? What are you waiting for?"

"Where is she?" Yvonne asked, logically.

She had a point, as a dejected Ron trudged back over to the group.

After a fair amount of argument, they came to the rational conclusion that Fern was most likely in the Hufflepuff Common Room.

Once they found it, they had to figure out how to get in and eventually had to give up. The asked a passing first-year Hufflepuff if he "wouldn't mind please fetching Fern Potter from inside?" Yvonne had asked and received an earful of insults from the cheeky student. She had given him a clip 'round the ear hole for disrespecting his elders. He never got Fern and the group of seven never got their girl.

* * *

><p>They never got to see Fern until they were ready to board the Hogwarts Express.<p>

She was stood off to the side away from everybody leaning on the lamppost, picking at her nails, not thinking about anything in particular.

The group lugged their trunks over to her and Adrian spoke.

"There's good marketing there, Fern," he said. "Give you a trench-coat, beret and cigarette; you're the next Marlene Dietrich," he smiled. Fern didn't find it very funny.

However, she did respond. "Get you a fedora, you've got Humphrey Bogart."

"Oh, you name dropper," he teased.

"How do you know so much about muggle culture?" Hermione asked her pureblooded Slytherin friend. There weren't many muggle-born Gryffindors who could say that. That said, she was probably the only one.

"Well, Hermione," he began, "I don't come from your traditional Slytherin family. We're different. We see things a different way. We've never really been into the whole pureblood mania business; it's just ritual. As a matter of fact, we've got a fair few muggle things lying around the house.

"Oh, really?" Fred grinned.

"Get on a treat with Dad," George grinned identically.

The thought made Ron squirm. "He doesn't have much them, though. He tends to charm them to make them more interesting. The washing machine tends to spit the clothes back out rather than washing them."

"And don't forget that Percy nearly got his hair shaved by the lawn mower," Fred added.

"If only," George said.

Yvonne shook her head. "Look, I don't know where this conversation came from or where it's going, but we're diverting from the point. Fern, you brought us together. If it wasn't for you, you wouldn't be standing here looking at a bunch of mismatched…" she paused to look among the group. She wasn't entirely sure what to call them. They were all strange including herself and even Fern. She finally settled on "humanoids and, well, quite frankly… you're the best friend we can have, so don't go all noble and say you don't deserve us."

"Please come and sit with us on the train. It'll be dead lonely without you," Neville said, shakily. Fern made him go all giddy inside.

"So what if there are only six spaces per compartment, we will make eight fit," Adrian said, defiantly. "We will squeeze in and crush each other if we have to but we will fit."

* * *

><p>Adrian's suggestion was easier said than done.<p>

It would have been a lot easier without all the hand luggage and all eight students were climbing over each other to find a comfortable position.

The more argumentative ones weren't all that keen on sharing seats so there was plenty of pushing and shoving and Yvonne got the best of Ron by knocking him to the floor with her hip when they fought over the end seat as the middle one was taken up by Fern's French horn which was too bulky to fit on the top section and there wasn't any room on the floor.

"At last, the victory is mine!" she cried in triumph, but Ron caught her off guard and wrestled her to the ground, neglecting the fact that the only available seat was now taken which Adrian occupied.

Fern who was quite happy on the floor had brought her knees up to her chest and had buried her head in them.

Once Ron and Yvonne had ceased their scuffle and the both rose, Ron very red-faced and Yvonne with her hair looking as though she'd just gotten out of bed.

"That does it!" Yvonne yelled. "I'm going to sit on the toilet!" She then stormed out and slammed the compartment door behind her.

Everyone exchanged looks with one another. Everyone except Fern who remained with her head in her hands. Neville looked over concerned.

"You okay, Alice?" he asked.

Fern lifted her head up to reveal a very red face with tears streaming. She was laughing.

They were all looking at her. Yep. She'd gone crazy.

"What's so funny?" Hermione asked, puzzled. Everyone else looked equally confused.

Fern went to speak but for all the laughing, she couldn't make a sound and fell to the left smacking her head on the compartment door which, although it hurt, only made her laugh more, as her hand flew to her head to soothe the pain and she got to her feet.

Fred and George were the first to see the funny side of the situation as they replayed Yvonne's words in their head that because there was nowhere for the Ravenclaw to sit, she had decided to sit on the toilet instead and they began to laugh with Fern.

They pulled Fern to her feet and the giggling trio held each other. Fern was laughing so hard she kept losing her balance and bumping into the door.

Not too long after, Adrian, Neville, Ron and Hermione all found themselves in the same state of hilarity and Draco Malfoy opened the compartment door to cause trouble but no one could upset Fernanda Mary Alice Potter today!

"So, Potter," he sneered. "Can't find any friends in your own House?"

No one was listening and Fern lost her balance again and fell through the door this time and landed on the floor like a dying fly with her legs in the air. She brought them to the ground with a thud, still laughing. Her dramatics caused more laughter from her friends.

"Waiter, there's a fly in my soup!" George shouted through his laughter, enough to attract the attention of every other compartment in that section of the train if Fern's loud crash to the ground hadn't been thunderous enough to start with.

"Don't talk too loud; everybody will want one!" Fred answered at the same volume and everyone at the compartment began to laugh more.

The noise was certainly enough to catch Yvonne's attention who had been in the process of staging a protest in the bathroom for "More seats in train compartments" which she was writing on yards of toilet paper with a bar of soap. It wasn't very effective but she was doing her best.

She came running out and saw Fern lying on the ground with everyone standing around and no one helping. "Fern, are you okay?" she asked, concerned as she approached her friend. She leant down to grab her arms and pull her to her feet but her friend was a dead weight and she wasn't putting any effort into helping herself. In fact… she was laughing? "What are you laughing at? What's so funny?"

"You!" Fern giggled. "'I'm going sit on the toilet!'" she quoted, causing more giggles from the giddy bunch in the compartment.

Yvonne looked around. "The sweet trolley hasn't been 'round yet, has it? You've not started on the jelly beans already? I know what they can do to a woman." Wanting to know what was going, Yvonne turned her attention from her friend to point the finger at the blond Slytherin not ten yards away. "Have you been tickling her?" she accused.

"I've got better things to do with my time than tickle filthy half-bloods," Malfoy spat.

"You've got plenty of time to insult them!" Neville shouted, laughing his head off.

"So I leave and everyone goes crazy?" Yvonne raged. "It's all your fault!" she blamed Malfoy again. "Get out my sight, you git!" she ordered, before turning to face the onlookers. "Don't know what you're all looking at. There's nothing to see!"

Scared, they hastily retreated to their compartments and shut their doors as Yvonne stood over her laughing friend (the one that was lying flat-out on the floor) with one leg on either side of her hips as she crossed her arms over to grab her friends arms and pulled her to her feet with all the strength she could muster.

Clearly, the power of laughter was too much for Yvonne and, just as she succeeded, she was thrown backwards and, with a scream and a crash she was on the floor of the compartment with a very merry Fern lying on top of her smiling. "Hello, Yvonne," she laughed.

"This is insane."

* * *

><p>It wasn't until the sweet trolley came around that Yvonne had the craziest idea to calm her disturbed friends down – a sugar rush. She bought everything on the trolley just to stop them laughing. The strangest thing was that it worked. Hermione didn't even comment that her parents were dentists and would play hell at her for having goodies.<p>

The rest of the train ride continued normally and without any fighting which was somewhat of a blessing for obvious reasons.

"Thanks for making me laugh, Yvonne," Fern said., desperately trying not to laugh again. "I really needed that."

"Oh good. Nice to know I'm the comedian of the bunch," she said, not exactly taking it as a compliment.

The twins took mock-offence. "We wanted to be the funny ones," the pouted simultaneously.

"Be my guests," she offered.

At some point during the journey a silence befell the compartment and, through no fault of her own, quite possibly due to her insomnia, every so often, Fern would start to exhibit signs of laughter. "No," she would reprimand herself and to stop herself from doing it she would rhythmically rock from side to side or tap her hands on the compartment door which began to annoy the other inhabitants of the carriage.

She got some very agitated glares, particularly from Hermione who couldn't concentrate on her book and the tapping reminded Yvonne of a clock which therefore made her paranoid when playing wizards chess with Ron. "Will you stop that infernal tapping!" she eventually screamed to shut Fern up.

"FINE!" the Hufflepuff screeched for the first time in her life. "I'll play my horn!" and stomped (in the little space she had) to where her French horn resided to remove it, and the mouthpiece, from its case.

Fern's outburst scared everyone, particularly Neville.

"Talk about cabin fever," Adrian said, examining his hands which jerking about all over the place. He was so petrified of her after that he was shaking like a leaf. "I think she's lost it."

One thing was for sure, eight Hogwarts students could never travel to Mars. They wouldn't even last three hours without losing their marbles.

"I didn't think she'd be the first to crack," Ron said, taking deep breaths after his scare. Like this, Fern would be great on Hallowe'en. She'd certainly scare the Trick-or-Treaters away.

Fern began to play her horn. A jovial tune. In spite of that unexpected outburst she was in a surprisingly light-hearted mood on this particular day.

Glad for the holidays? Going cold turkey on something? They weren't entirely sure what was going on.

She'd been very down in the dumps before she'd got on the train but she'd soon perked up… she was a bit too perky now and Yvonne wasn't so sure she liked it.

After a short time of playing the horn, the laughter started again where she got an awful (or rather, suggestive, sound out of her instrument) before removing it from her mouth, removing the spit valves, flicking the contents across the compartment in a carefree manner showering her friends with the wet, sticky substance causing a chorus of "Ergh!" and "Do you mind?" from different directions before replacing them, doing the exact same with her mouthpiece and then turning her instrument upside down to empty any spit out of that onto the ground. Her facial expressions were very strange when doing this and everyone was watching her as she did it all thinking the exact same thing - "She's bonkers."

Once everything was replaced in the case and zipped up was when she stopped to laugh at the previous incident and cause of laughter which nobody else was laughing at now. It was funny at the time, but they'd gotten over that and, now that they thought about it, Fern was what had made them really laugh and not what Yvonne had said.

They were all saddened watching her. It was like it wasn't Fern; that there was another person that had taken over Fern's body.

Then she collapsed.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This was a lot of fun to write and I'm very surprised I managed to write it all in one sitting. Believe me, it's so much easier than the last chapter was. For one, it was first attempt, not thirtieth.**

**I'm also assuming I haven't lost my own mind and that I said in an earlier chapter that Neville will call Fern 'Alice' from now on.**

**By the way, I wasn't on anything when writing this chapter, only prescribed medication.**


	31. The Girl With No Name

**A/N: I realise there are probably a lot of mistakes. I'm sure a lot of the time it's something the website does when I upload the document. Still, I try my best and I can't do anything more than that, can I?**

**Anyway, I'm so happy I'm finally getting onto Chamber of Secrets. I was worried writer's block would have me stuck on Philosopher's Stone for donkey's years.**

**I'd also like to apologise for the late reply. I would have done uploaded sooner but with a little bit of writer's block and the fact that my medication made me so ill that it stopped me eating properly for about three weeks with constant nausea, migraines that no painkillers would cease and the inability to breathe properly - at one point I was on the verge of both throwing up and passing out.**

* * *

><p><strong>THE GIRL WITH NO NAME<strong>

A tanned Simon Potter patiently waited for the Hogwarts Express so he could take his young cousin home.

He wasn't going to work at all that summer which meant no travelling abroad and, in spite of the sombrero on his head, the loud Hawaiian shirt, vibrant shorts, socks, fluorescent flip-flops and straw donkey under his arm, it in no way implied "Viva España." It didn't stop him receiving some rather odd looks, however.

He knew exactly what he was planning to do with Fern, though. Family time.

Fern had no recollection of what it was like to have a parental figure. She'd seen what her Aunt and Uncle were like in their treatment of Dudley but she had never been so lucky to experience that or anything she vaguely remembered.

Simon knew James and Lily had spoiled their daughter, perhaps more James than Lily because Fern's mother never wanted a brat but the long-haired girl was James' 'little princess.' He had tried to buy her a new toy everyday but Lily hexed him every time she caught him in the act. He soon learned his lesson.

One thing they both agreed on, however, was one thing Simon perhaps knew his young cousin best for. Compassion.

Although Fern was only just over two years of age when her parents died, she had been raised with pets. Even at such a young age she loved animals and they also loved her.

As he waited for the train he reminisced of good times he spent at Godric's Hollow and baby Fern playing with the cats, dogs, rabbits… It made him laugh when he thought of the crazy Labrador that pulled Fern across the floor by the seat of her pyjama bottoms, in the playful manner all dogs do with babies as she would giggle loudly at the canine's antics and Simon remembered at the time thinking the cat that used to climb on the curtain rail and survey the scene from the high angle must have wondered if the dog had mental issues.

This memory made him really start to chuckle, which attracted even more attention on the station platform. A ridiculously-dressed man laughing his head off in a public place. What was the world coming to?

Simon just carried on reminiscing while he waited for the Hogwarts Express.

He soon gained some company, however, with the arrival of Arthur, Molly and Ginny Weasley who had come to greet their children from school. Arthur had managed to get the day off work to welcome them home and they approached the Girl-Who-Lived's guardian and began talking about their children and how Ginny would soon be attending. All Ginny could do was ask Simon about Fern, which Molly had to repeatedly reprimand her for.

* * *

><p>When the train chugged into the station and the familiar sights and sounds of children filled the air, the three adults struggled to see the students they so desired. Ginny had hopped onto the bench and was jumping up and down to try and get a glimpse of the famous Fernanda Potter.<p>

As the crowds began to die down and the families starter to filter off the platform to return to the muggle world, several flashes of red hair caught Molly's eye and she began waving and shouting to Ron and the twins where she was.

Then she slowed down and stopped, puzzled. Fred was carrying something, or rather someone, George and Ron were pushing a trolley upon which sat their own luggage: Fred's luggage as well as someone else's and then there were four more students behind; one chubby boy with two musical instrument case straps over his shoulders, one in one hand and a cat basket in the other (Neville Longbottom, Arthur deduced.) There was a tall boy pushing another metal trolley with four students'-worth of baggage on it and two girls with something dark all wrapped up in their arms and trying not to drop it as though it were a bomb that might go off.

Ginny was still jumping up and down waiting to see Fern Potter. Ever since she'd gotten her card in a chocolate frog she'd been anxious to meet her.

"Ginny, get down, please," Molly chastised, and a dejected redhead did as she was told and stepped down off the bench.

When the students got closer all became clear.

"Fern?" Simon was concerned and shoved the straw donkey into Arthur's hands.

The muggle-lover hadn't previously given much thought to the useless artefact but now it was in his possession he became rather interested. "Ooh, what's this for?" he asked, his attention now diverted.

"Oh, Arthur!" an agitated Molly lightly slapped her husband's shoulder.

"What happened?" Simon asked the boy currently holding his cousin.

"She collapsed," Fred said, bluntly. What else could he say? "She's been out cold for a couple of hours."

"Give her to me," Simon panicked, and hastily took Fern from the teenager, as though afraid the older twin would drop her.

"I wouldn't drop her, Sir," Fred chuckled lightly. "She doesn't weigh much."

Simon had to agree with that. She was a lot shorter than other thirteen-year-olds (although she still had a few weeks to go) and was a bit underweight, for which he couldn't help but blame the Dursleys. He worried they were going to turn him into a bitter old man before his time. Fern was the only family he had left and he didn't want her to waste away because of them.

Sensing something wasn't right, Adrian Pucey, the voice of reason amongst the group of unusual friends spoke up.

"We put it down to cabin fever, Mr. Potter… I think. Failing that, possibly fatigue or too much sugar. Maybe a mixture, I don't know, but before she collapsed she had a major giggle fit. Don't know why. It wasn't all that funny but she laughed. Then she yelled at everyone, went to play her French horn, started laughing again and then collapsed."

Simon knew this boy from somewhere but couldn't place the face.

"Adrian!" The boy groaned at his name. It was that rotten sister of his and her annoying whiny voice. Now Simon knew.

"Sorry, Sir. Got to go. Hope Fern recovers. Bye, everyone," he sighed and miserably walked to his doom and everyone, bar the unconscious girl, waved farewell to their friend.

"Goodbye, Mr. Pucey," Simon smiled. The voice of the boy's kid sister wasn't unknown to the man, so it was enough to answer his main question. "And thanks to the rest of you for bringing Fern and her things out to me. It's greatly appreciated." Then he remembered. "Oh, ADRIAN!" he called across the station and the boy turned back for a moment and came rushing back in a panic.

"Yes, Sir?" he said breathlessly.

"As a thank-you to all of you for taking care of Fernanda no matter whether or not she burst your ear drums with her screaming or horn-playing… erm... oh..." He looked to his pockets. He had both arms full of girl so was inaccessible to get to his wallet. "Bennett?" he called to the butler who had accompanied him and who had left the horse and carriage that nobody had previously noticed was there. With money to burn Simon had thought it was nice to travel in style.

"Yes, Sir?" the aging butler slurred.

"Ah, Bennett, good man. Is there a chance you could get my wallet out of my left pocket?"

"Certainly, Sir."

To the man in the street you'd think Bennett was the stereotypical drunken butler from muggle television shows based in the 1920s who fiddled and swindled but he didn't do his employer out of money and he was tee-total; it was just his manner of speech.

Bennett removed the cash-holder from his boss' pocket and held it out in front of him.

"Good man. Would you be kind enough to present each of these seven students with five galleons each for their loyalty and integrity to my young cousin?" Simon offered.

"Five galleons?" Ron was so surprised he stood agape. Yvonne was the one to shut his mouth for him.

"That's very generous of you, Sir," she said, "but we don't want money. We're proud to be Fern's friends. She brought us together. Without her she'd still be on the train."

Fred and George burst out laughing; Yvonne having no idea why. She was completely oblivious to the fact that her words could in any way be amusing. Her other friends then began to chuckle, as did Simon and the three Weasleys and yet Yvonne remained ignorant. Then she began to replay the words in her head.

"She brought us together. Without her she'd still be on the train," she repeated.

She repeated it again only this time slower and then she understood why. She started to laugh. Then she thought 'why not make them laugh more?' and said "I don't get it," all the while counting on Adrian to hold her up when both sets of knees were buckling from laughter.

The only one with a straight face was Bennett who attempted to hand out the thirty-five galleons to the students who were less than co-operative with him.

* * *

><p>Eventually the laughter stopped, everyone got their payment and they decided to go for a drink in the Leaky Cauldron as Fern woke up shortly after.<p>

Although Adrian got rushed home, Simon did get the chance to meet Neville's grandmother, and Yvonne and Hermione's parents and everyone went for dinner and a drink in the Leaky Cauldron before Simon treated everyone to huge sundaes at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, though his ulterior motive was to "fatten Fern up." He had sent Bennett to the counter with the order of extra sauce, chocolate shavings and hundreds and thousands for Fern. Bennett gave Fern his cherry.

In spite of the good time everybody had, there was a lot of animosity between Percy and Fern. Percy loathed everything about Fern and did absolutely nothing to disguise the fact.

There came a point when everyone was chatting amiably to one another and there was silence from the two remaining students who were both waiting their turn to enter the conversation. Well, Fern was waiting; if Percy ever expressed a desire to cut in on somebody else talking he did it regardless.

Instead, Fern decided to try and talk to the redhead. "So, Percy," she began, rather unsurely, "how did you do on your exams?" She was only trying to be nice.

"I don't have to answer to you," he snarled through gritted teeth, folded his arms and turned his head away from her.

He didn't seem to care that such an action could probably hurt her feelings. As far as he was concerned, she didn't have any.

"What can I do?" Fern whispered to him, pleading. "What do you want?"

"I want you to leave me alone," he spat, turning back to face her. "I'm sick of the sight of you!"

That stopped all conversation immediately, but he hadn't noticed.

"Don't know why you don't just drown yourself; put us all out of our misery." Percy rolled his eyes as he said this, silently cursing the girl for her mere existence.

Fern hadn't noticed the ceasing of all dialogue either, as she slowly got up from her seat and left the shop to stand outside and keep the horse company.

Fern's friends all looked in anger to the pompous teenager, as the senior Weasleys tried to overcome their shock at his harsh words, whilst Simon followed his cousin.

She was stood right beside the majestic white horse giving him all the love and affection she had been denied for the years she spent at the Dursleys.

"I know you don't understand me," she said, "but do you think I'll ever have a chance? Well, a chance to mend the relationship? I do want us to be friends… I just get the feeling he has a lot on his mind at the moment and wants to be left alone for the time being." She paused. "But I know everything will turn out fine and we'll both wonder why ever fought."

Simon shook his head at hearing these words. She was delusional and he wondered if it was having lived with her mother's family all those years. Had they treated her so cruelly that she now lived in a dream world?

"Are you okay, Fern?" he asked, cautiously.

"Oh, Simon!" She spun on the spot, her hair flying wildly in her excitement. "I'm absolutely fine. I was just talking to this gorgeous stallion." She turned back to kiss the horse. "I don't suppose you have any carrots?" she asked Simon.

He wasn't entirely sure how to respond. It was like she was two different people – one was the quiet submissive Fernanda and she had somehow generated a rather energetic, happy-go-lucky alter-ego.

"Are you feeling okay, honey?" he asked with concern as he felt her forehead with the back of his hand. She wasn't running a temperature.

"I feel absolutely fine, but I would like to go home now," she said, with confidence. "It's quite difficult to converse with yourself. On the plus side, you do get the answer you want."

Simon didn't like this one bit. In the time he'd left the shop she had changed from the girl he knew into a girl he wasn't so sure he liked and he didn't want to think why it was so.

He re-entered the shop, leaving Fern to her own devices and giving the horse all manner of kisses and cuddles.

"Terribly sorry, everybody," he panicked. "I'll have to take Fern home. She isn't feeling too well," he lied, indicating with his eyes to Bennett to take the girl back to Potter Manor. "I'll keep you updated," he reassured the individuals who cared as he left once more, Bennett in tow having paid the bill for the sundaes.

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><p>Fern didn't say a single word on the way home, but Simon did hear her sniffle as she turned away from him, hoping he wouldn't see her cry. He wound up putting his arms around her, kissing the top of her head and allowing her to fall into what she could only assume was a sort of fatherly embrace.<p>

As soon as they had arrived home, Fern had returned to her own cheerful twin, but not before trying to clumsily catch butterflies like a toddler.

All he could think to do was put her to bed and Floo to St. Mungo's and consult the psychiatrist over her mentality. The doctor had Flooed back to Potter Manor, to study the girl, who was lying on the bed with one leg crossed over the other and reading "Gone with the Wind" at a high trajectory as the jovial child she had appeared to become that same day.

"Fern… there's someone here to see you," Simon said, gently.

"Who's Fern?" the girl asked, distracted from her book as she rose from the bed. "Is she a friend of yours? I'd really love to meet her!"

Doctor Penrose had an idea in his head of what was happening with the girl before he met her but with those few sentences, he knew for sure.

"Well, you're Fern, dear," Simon tried to tell her.

"Oh, you!" she playfully slapped his arm. "Don't be silly. My name's not Fern," she laughed.

"Well, then, who are you?" Simon asked, looking to Doctor Penrose for a smidgen of hope.

"I'm Emma!" she sang.

Doctor Penrose conjured a pen and slip of paper, upon which he wrote her condition and handed it to the anxious man.

Simon didn't know what to do with the girl after reading the note – _SPLIT PERSONALITY_.


	32. Shattered Image

**A/N: I have no idea how long it has taken me to write this chapter. I must have tried at least thirty times and I'm still not happy with it. Since those failed attempts, I've also had writer's block so I'm well and truly stuck.**

**Thank you, everyone, for your kind words and constructive criticism.**

**I can't make any promises on the content of this chapter (it's been so hard to write) but I hope it will get better.**

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><p><span><strong>SHATTERED IMAGE<strong>

After Doctor Penrose left, Fern fell asleep and awoke two hours later with no recollection of her alter-ego or any events of that day. She was back to being her old self, though she was rather dazed and confused.

She rose from the bed and stumbled to the mirror, in a sleepy state. "You look a right mess," she said to herself as she sat at her vanity unit and grabbed her hair brush; trying to make herself look remotely presentable. She wondered if it was an age thing; if maybe only kids ever woke up with 'bed heads' and that she might one day rise from bed looking relatively presentable to society. She then opened one of her drawers and dug out a thick white ribbon, proceeding to tie her hair in a half ponytail. She was always rather satisfied with the way her bows turned out; she had never been allowed to look pretty at the Dursleys.

She then went over to where her cat was lying on her bed and sat beside him. This roused him and, having stretched out, rubbed against his owner's arm and plonked himself on her lap.

"_So the cat gets the cuddles_," she heard a familiar voice say.

With that, Fern gasped. How could she have forgotten him? "_Nexus!_," she exclaimed, placing her feline friend in her arms and walking over to the glass tank to free the reptile.

"_I'm so sorry, Nexus. I didn't mean to forget you_." She didn't have to apologise, however, for Nexus was not a malicious serpent.

"_Quite alright, Duchess_." He decided that was his new term of endearment, though he knew full well that she really was a duchess. "_And thank you for finally opening this tank. I have certainly missed the freedom_."

Nexus slowly slithered his way up her leg, around her abdomen and across her arms. He was more than twice as long as she was tall, which wasn't saying much. She was a runt, but he didn't see any problem whatsoever with that. He knew that, in the end, a special someone loved the runt more than the rest and he couldn't wait for the day his Duchess found out.

"_Then they don't let you out when I'm not here? At all?"_ Fern was deeply saddened by that. "_I can understand people not being overly-fond or even scared of snakes, but to keep you in that tank for all that time is just horrible._"

"_It's quite alright, Duchess; you're home now_." Nexus' forked tongue tickled her cheek. "_I promise I won't eat you_." That comment caused Fern to laugh.

"_Oh, I know you won't_." Fern was always so trusting of everything, animal, vegetable or insect; not that she could think of many dishonest vegetables she'd ever encountered. Shaking herself out of her pointless wonderings, she spoke again. "_I wonder if Professor Dumbledore might let me bring you to Hogwarts. I promise you won't be lonely_."

At that moment, there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," the tiny girl invited, making her way towards her bedroom door, still hosting a cat and a snake.

The person on the other side couldn't speak to save her life. It was Georgina; the new maid. Georgina ran from the room screaming "SNAKE!" for all to hear. Fern looked to Nexus and Nexus looked to Fern.

"_Oh, for the love of anacondas!_" Nexus exclaimed, agitated. "_It's only her first day. If you can't handle snakes then beggar off!_"

Fern didn't really know what to make of the situation.

"_Idiot girl_," Nexus muttered. He was expecting (or rather hoping) for Fern to reprimand him, but she didn't.

"What was all that about?" Simon stood at the door confused. "She knows there's a snake in the house. I don't know," he said, shaking his head before turning all his attention towards Fern. "How are you, darling?" He was rather taken aback by her two pets abusing the precious amount (or lack thereof) of body space.

"I'm absolutely fine," Fern responded. "But I am a little hungry?" It wasn't a statement, but a question.

"Oh, good. That's really what Georgina came here for; to see if you were awake and wanted any dinner. There's cheesy chicken wrapped in bacon on the table?"

"Oh, Simon!" she exclaimed. She loved cheesy chicken wrapped in bacon.

"Well, put your snake back in his tank and we can go. There's a gourmet meal in Socks' bowl too."

Fern was taken aback. "Please, Simon, Nexus doesn't like being shut up in his tank all the time; anymore than a bunny would enjoy being locked in a hutch. But snakes aren't as appealing as bunnies and people like to cuddle rabbits so they get some freedom. Can I please keep Nexus out for today? He can have free roam of my bedroom, instead of being stifled in a glass container."

Simon wasn't overly-fond of the idea of a snake slithering around Potter Manor but he hadn't exactly had any personal bad experiences with the reptile. "Very well. I can't very well deny you this one request."

Almost as if he'd heard Simon, Nexus slowly glided down Fern's body and legs, as she then shut the door behind her and followed Simon down, still holding her cat close to her chest. Socks was a very sociable cat and loved to be held and cuddled so he spent most of his time with his owner.

As Fern left her quarters following Simon, she looked to the walls and the many paintings of her ancestors. She couldn't help but notice they were all male and each individual had his dates in a gold banner above a short description of what he was most known for.

Fern stopped on the second flight of stairs and walked right up to one particular portrait.

He was a rugged-looking gentleman, quite out of place with his forefathers but he still held the air of dignity about his person.

He had mussed-up jet-black hair and glasses which encased a pair of what Fern considered "Perfectly beautiful hazel eyes." She had said it aloud, not quite realising, but it was enough to stop Simon in his tracks and make his way over to his young cousin. He had opened his mouth to say something but didn't want to interrupt her at that moment. "He's really rather handsome," Fern smiled, reaching out a hand to touch the delicate brush strokes that had painted the portrait's cheek.

To her surprise, the painting gave no response, unlike so many other portraits in the Wizarding World that would shout "Get off!" and "Oi, don't touch my beautiful frame with your grubby hands!"

"These ones don't respond," Simon informed her and she turned to face him, Simon several steps below her; the only way she could ever look him in the eye. "They were painted that way on purpose. There is another room for Wizarding portraits that, no doubt, you've gotten used to at Hogwarts."

Fern returned her attention back to the portrait and looked at the gold banner below.

_JAMES CHARLUS POTTER VII,  
>27 March 1960 – 31 October 1981<br>Aged 21 Years  
>"THE BRAVE"<em>

In an instant, tears met Fern's eyes. "This is my father."

Simon just nodded and slowly approached her. "Yes, Fern, that's your father."

Slowly, Fern collapsed on the stairs, elbows resting on her knees; head in her hands.

Seeing her distress, Simon sat beside her and wrapped an arm around her, allowing her to lean on him for comfort. "You know, you can speak to him if you want. There's a room at the very top of Potter Manor where your most notable and noble ancestors reside." He really wanted to take her there and surprise her to no end.

She had grown up, ignorant to magic and blind to love. She had discovered magic and love, but Simon thought there was a bit left to be desired and he felt as though he just had to show her.

But not before eating dinner.

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><p>The pair of them enjoyed the tender chicken breast, stuffed with mozzarella cheese and wrapped in crispy bacon (he hoped all the grease and fat in the cheese and bacon might actually put some skin on her bones, as she was very underweight.) For dessert, Mrs. Harman (the gourmet chef of Potter Manor) had baked her famed double chocolate gateaux with homemade clotted cream and fresh berries from the greenhouses.<p>

At one point during dessert, Fern felt as though she might be sick from all the chocolate but it did subside about half an hour afterwards, after she went with Simon to relax in the library and they spoke of little things of no real importance as they each flipped through their own choice of reading. Suffice it to say, neither of them really did much reading.

After their stomachs had settled and Fern's nausea settled down, Simon led her up each individual staircase in turn, stopping to allow Fern to take in the appearances of her ancestors.

They reached a large silver door with a gold lion for a door knocker.

As they approached, the doors opened and inside were portraits of the most noble of Fern's ancestors.

The individual in each portrait was doing their own thing, except for two men (of generations past) who were arguing, apparently about their children; how one man's daughter was too good for his son and how the other man's son wasn't good enough or his daughter.

"Just ignore them," Simon instructed, "they're always at it."

He then continued to walk, Fern following in his steps, and led her to the very end where portraits of both her father and mother resided.

That was enough to cause Fern to fall to pieces, as Simon watched her collapse in a fit of uncontrollable tears.

The only thing she ever wanted was her parents, but knowing they were around in portrait form only made matters worse. She could never kiss them or cuddle them and they could never reciprocate.

Simon wound up carrying her to her bedroom in the end, as she found she couldn't move, for all the longing pain she still possessed (as she had ever since she could remember.)

The portraits of her parents called out to her but she didn't hear them.

Or perhaps she didn't want to hear them, feeling it would make matters worse.

As Simon gently laid her on the bed, he began to question himself aloud.

"Why you? What have you done to deserve any of this?"

He wanted someone to blame… but there were too many people. He instead decided to blame himself.

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><p><strong>AN: Well, there's that. Bit all over the place but I need to move on with this story.**


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